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IKHelleele^ /HbaQastne 


The Divine in Philosophy 

Why Miss Betsy Foegot Choie Pbactice 

Stevenson's Lettees and Essays 

Past and Peesent . 

A Stoby of Old Boston 

A Lobstee Stoey 

Editoeials . 

Eeee Peess . 

Exchanges . 

Book Reviews 

Books Received 

College Notes 

Society Notes 

Alumnae Notes 

Maebiages . 

Bieths . 

Anna Boynton Thompson 

'93 . 

Grace L. Cook, '99 

Anna P. Chandler, '98 

Charlotte B. Herr, 1900 





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The Welle sley Magazine. 

Vol. V. WELLESLEY, APRIL 13, 1897. No. 7. 




EDITH MAY, '97. 





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One of the surprises which life holds for him who looks deeply enough 
is the wide diversity of forms in which the central source of power that feeds 
every real life appears. One soul finds its inner strength in religion, another 
in love and loyalty to human ties, and still another in the ideal life which art, 
or poetry, or music offers. Each one of these expressions may lift to the 
highest, to the Most High : he who is wholly loyal to its noblest aspect, its 
widest reaches, may thereby win his way to the central truth, and possess 
his heritage as child of God. The primary task of the individual is to dis- 
cover which expression is suited to him. Temperament dictates what it 
shall be. When it has been found life should be consecrated to it, life should 
be strenuous effort to reveal in this form the Divine Power which presses to 
utter itself through us. For we must remember that to reveal God's might 
is the final cause of the existence of each of us : revelation is not the special 


gift of prophet or seer, but the common task of humanity ; revelation is not 
sealed from any one of us, but in exact measure to endeavor, truth and right 
are still revealed to and through each human being. 

To-day I wish to speak of Philosophy as one of the forms in which the 
Divine life offers itself to man. This form has the same power to feed, to 
support, and uplift, as has religion, or love, or poetic vision, for its sub- 
stance is identical with theirs : its different mode of expression is simply a 
specific presentation of the common truth which fits it for a certain class of 
minds, and it is essential that these minds should recognize in it their in- 
alienable possession. 

The critical mind is separated from the mind of the natural believer by 
a sharply defined line. The latter accepts by instinct : sometimes external 
evidence, historic statement, are final facts for him ; or the majority, just 
because it is majority, carries convincing proof with its belief whatever it 
may be ; or the voice of command generates obedience : ' ' thus saith the 
Lord " is an ultimate admitting no further question ; his religion and his 
ethics are the religion and the ethics of authority ; again, he may be the in- 
tuitional mind which trusts personal insight without testing its rationality. 
The critical mind, however, is founded upon Reason as upon a rock ; for it 
the testimonies of the past, the beliefs of the majority, the external com- 
mands, which are not grounded in Reason, seem the rain, and the floods, and 
the wind which have descended and beaten upon it through the ages, and 
have passed away, each in its turn, leaviug it unshaken. The critical mind is 
Reason itself, which demands that all things shall be shown to be consistent 
with it, which asserts that rationality is the heart of existence, and until the 
rationality is seen, existence cannot be proved ; cannot even be postulated. 

To such minds the value of Philosophy is inestimable, since it affords 
to them a rational belief, and full reconciliation with life. Through Philos- 
ophy the vision of prophet and priest are confirmed, the logical grounds of 
the mystic's insight are uncovered, God is laid hold of by reason as surely 
as by faith, sight takes the place of feeling, life with its contradictions re- 
solves itself into a logic, and appears as that unfolding of law which reason 
demands. Since God is the only necessity of life, and reconciliation with 
the facts of existence the condition of effective action, that which gives both 
to a class of minds has essential value in the economy of being. 


Two of the mo9t perplexing problems which meet us at every turn, and 
make reconciliation with life hardest, are the problem of evil and the ap- 
parent triviality of the ordinary life. Why should a God who is good, all- 
powerful, and infinite, allow evil — evil which is so cruel and so foul, which 
so wounds and hurts the innocent, which often stunts their growth and 
shapes them in its own likeness ? If God can prevent evil and does not, 
is he good, is he morally better than a man who willingly tolerates it? If 
he cannot prevent it, he is not all-powerful ; therefore not God. If he is 
infinite he must contain all things, therefore evil, therefore be not-good. 
If he does not contain evil, he is not infinite, therefore not God. Again, 
why should each of us be given so little ability and so little opportunity? 
Each longs for righteous power ; power of thought, of action, of utterance. 
Each finds himself abjectly feeble, and even the tiny germs of capacity he 
may possess are so repressed and stunted by untoward circumstance that 
he remains insignificant always. Has this trivial, uninteresting, insignificant 
self and life any real meaning ? 

I will now try to put into words the solution which Philosophy gives to 
these two problems, and to show how, through them as through any bit of 
empirical consciousness, it leads us to a God who satisfies reason, who 
gathers the apparent contradictions of life into the unity of that nature of 
which each individual is a necessary aspect. Philosophy must mean for us 
idealistic philosophy ; for philosophy is the search for truth, truth is one, 
hence philosophy cannot rest till it sees all being springing from its one 
central and generating source ; only Idealism yields such monistic view : 
all Realism hides somewhere a lurking dualism ; it follows that only Ideal- 
ism can claim to have reached the goal of Philosophy : Realism remains 
always an unfinished attempt. 

Idealistic Philosophy tells us that the stuff of which the world is 
made is self-consciousness : nothing but self-consciousness exists. Self- 
consciousness, however, is not the consciousness of the single individual : 
it is the product of the interrelation of all the single selves : the uni- 
verse is a complex of selves the content of whose consciousness forms the 
physical and the spiritual world. This is a hard saying for the plain man, 
but the perception of its truth so clarifies life that to attain it is worth years 
of effort. The classical path to its attainment lies through Kant, Fichte, 


Hegel. These men should be mastered by every one whom simple faith does 
not satisfy : the mind which recognizes its nature to be of the restless, ques- 
tioning sort that is termed philosophic, and does not make the thought of 
these three thinkers its own, wrongs itself; whatever else it gains, it re- 
nounces its birthright. The substance of their ethical teaching I shall try 
to put before you in our discussion of the nature and the significance of evil 
and of the self. 

If the world is self-consciousness, our first step toward comprehending 
the world is grasping the nature of self-consciousness. What does each of 
us do when he becomes conscious of self? Think of self now. What have 
you done? You have withdrawn your attention from the printed page 
which a moment before occupied it, and fastened it upon the activity which 
was reading the page. That is, you have mounted above the empirical 
self of a moment ago which was reading, and are now looking at it as read- 
ing. Your view is a larger one : then it held only the printed words or the 
not-self; now it holds both the self and the not-self, and sees them in their 
relation. But stop a moment ! Am I right in saying ' ' it holds the self 
and the not-self?" Is the true self of this moment the image of the reading 
self of a moment ago? Is not the true self, rather, the wider view, which 
holds two images of the past, a reading self and a read not-self — the printed 
page? It is. Through the activity of self-consciousness we expand the 
self, we cause it to hold the old self and the not- self, and to unite them as 
two elements of a new and larger self; we gain the power of constant 
growth, for we see and judge the empirical self and set it in right relations 
with its environment. Self-consciousness means perpetual conquest, for the 
not-self, the environment which for mere consciousness is a foreign force, an 
Other set over against it to dominate it, is reduced to an element of the 
greater self whose true being is the interaction of the empirical self and 
the not-self. Self-consciousness affords means of organizing life into an 
organic whole ; when rightly understood, it is an escape from the tyranny 
of the personal self, from absorption in the petty isolation which makes each 
an individual, from the separation of selfishness, into the impersonality and 
community of relations — for in its essence it is a reduction of the personal 
being of each into mere element of a larger whole, where its only concern is 
to relate itself rightly with the whole, to merge its petty personality in 
organic membership. 


If such development of nobler being through constant conquest and tran- 
scension of self and not-self, is the essence and condition of self-conscious- 
ness, to a world of self-consciousness, such development must seem the Good, 
and its opposite Evil. Evil is a resting in the personal self or the not-self; 
we rest in the self when we linger in its desires, its emotions, its thoughts, 
its deeds, instead of transcending them, judging the relation in which they 
stand to the true self, and so ordering them as to unfold this self as a har- 
monious, consistent whole. We rest in the not-self when the object of our 
desire fills our consciousness and excludes thought of the true self and of its 
relation to the object. In such case our being is narrowed to the dimen- 
sions of the object. 

The conclusion which we have now reached is that for a world of self- 
consciousness the Good must appear as the constant conquest of self and not- 
self, and the constant relating of the two as mere elements of a higher unity, 
while Evil is a refusal to rise above present empirical conditions. 

What practical results follow? First we see that a world of self-con- 
sciousness must be a world of struggle, for the struggle itself, the act of con- 
quering and rising above self and not-self is the very essence of this world 
and the soul of its good. Good means struggle. We see further that that 
against which we struggle is also good, for it is necessary means to the 
struggle. The only evil is lack of struggle. 

Straightway a new aspect is put upon each one of our lives : the imper- 
fections of the given self, whether physical, or mental, or moral, are not 
evils as given; they exist as material for action ; they are to be overcome and 
left behind, as the true self mounts to its wider compass ; the limitations of 
the given not-self, whether poverty, or misfortune, or crime, are not evils as 
given, they exist that they may be righted, that by their conquest they may 
be introduced as elements of power into the higher self. The only evil for 
each of us is the refusal to right self and not-self, and to set them in proper 
relation. The only evil for each of us lies in the will, hence it is in the 
power of each to banish evil from his world, to consecrate his world as that 
holy struggle which is the soul of good. 

So much for general conclusions. But we need more explicit direction 
for the conduct of life. Suppose we do transcend and judge self and not-self 
constantly, — ten thousand relations between them are possible, — how can 
we know which we should establish? 


We know by hearing within self the utterance of the conviction of the 
One Absolute Mind. That this One Absolute Mind exists as a universal 
consciousness which gathers into itself the sum total of individual conscious- 
ness and infinitely transcends it, is the inevitable postulate of the doctrine of 
self- consciousness. This Universal Consciousness is the Kingdom of Law 
beholding itself. It holds in its view an ideal world which is the full and 
perfect unfolding of law, where all parts are so harmonized by law that com- 
pletest development of each in its relation to the whole is ensured. This 
ideal world is a-realizing ; the empirical selves, we as individuals, are the means 
of such realization. If we will, we can reach the full measure of the ideal of 
each one of us held in God's mind. Every man's life is a plan of God where 
its proportions are majestic. The function of the human will is to express 
this plan in forms of time and space. The plan, the ideal, is not revealed to 
us as a whole : it is revealed only step by step, and the means of its revelation 
are choice and conviction. At every moment a choice is presented us: we 
can think this thought or refuse to entertain it ; we can indulge this feeling or 
banish it for a nobler ; we can speak the word or hold our peace ; we can do 
the deed or refrain. And with the alternative comes always the conviction 
which member we should choose : the higher self that we are to reach presses 
in upon us, up through us, as conviction. This conviction is the one holy 
thing in life ; it is the Counsellor, the Spirit speaking to us ; it is God making 
himself manifest, showing in what form He would realize himself in us. Its 
voice is immediate : it reveals itself to the individual alone ; no other can 
declare it to him. 

And the Good Will fixes attention unswervingly upon the conviction : it 
knows no other object of interest in life, fortius is the true life. Its constant 
interrogation is: " What ought I at this moment to do ? What is the con- 
tent of the true self at this point of time and space?" This content always 
reveals itself. The Good Will holds itself unwavering before it whatever its 
form may be ; it does not flinch ; it stands steady with eye fixed upon the 
Right. And the Right shapes it into its own likeness : the Good Will and 
God's Will grow unconsciously one. For it is psychological truth that the 
human mind is a machine which is unconsciously transformed into that upon 
which it fixes exclusive attention ; the not-machine in humanity is solely the 
power to look or not to look at the highest. That upon which the mental eye 


steadfastly gazes becomes the creative force of each life : the beauty of holiness 
moulds us unconsciously into its image if it forever fills our vision, or evil 
dwarfs and deforms us if we look with longing at unholy things. In the un- 
conscious shaping of self by the Right conscious struggle is transcended when 
we hold the vision firm ; life becomes a perpetual inflowing of new sight and 
new might of God ; the empirical self is forgotten in its steady approach 
toward identification with God. 

Every moment in which the eye is turned away from the Right, some 
divine revelation is lost, for temptation is a call from God that he wills to 
show us a deeper truth than we have yet known. If we turn from the lower 
impulse and press upward with our whole being, with all its action and its 
passion towards the Right, the Right appears in more majestic form, its awful 
beauty, its eternal significance, its God-enduring power, shine in upon us 
with increasing clearness. The condition of sight is the single eye. " Blessed 
are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Purity is perception ; holiness 
is insight. 

Such ordering of growth is only rational. It would be unwise to grant 
us more till we have learned to control what we have. The end of our being 
is to realize the ideal which God holds before us. Until we have learned so 
to use our present powers as to realize what we already see it were useless to 
give us new powers. When we have learned, then new insight and new 
utterance will be granted, — and granted unceasingly as we go on realizing the 
given ideal. We shall pass from strength to strength, making visible the 
divine life in our daily living, becoming a vital force, a center of might, a 
strong column and support to the weaker wills about us. " Work in the 
will," is the cry to each, " for there alone do ye surely bring to pass and get 
enduring gains." 

Can we turn away from such way of life? Do we not rather press for- 
ward upon it with passion? Must we not cry with St. Augustine: "Too 
late have I known thee, O Ancient Truth ! Too late have I loved thee, O 
Ancient Beauty ! " 

Fatigue cannot deter. Suppose we do grow weary. To fight this very 
battle, to use all our power in looking unfalteringly toward the Right, is the 
purpose for which we are created. Surely strength will be given to do the 
task appointed us. " Be ye perfect, even as your Father in Heaven is perfect," 
is the command. 


The struggle makes the humblest life a drama in which God is actor, and 
all lives equal, for every life reduces itself to the formula, "God and I," 
"God appearing in me." Within us lie the sources of interest; within us is 
found true fellowship, true community with Spirit. 

Pain is at first our constant companion. But slowly Pain's face trans- 
forms itself: she is seen as the heavenly handmaid who brings deeper 
truth; we love her, we cling to her; she is the stimulus of life, the rouser 
of the self, the enlarger of being, the bringer of power. 

sacred Essence, lighting me this hour, 
How may I rightly stile thy great power? 

(Echo) Power. 

Power! But from whence? From some diviner day? 

Livest thou in Heaven? Saye. 
(Echo) In Heavens aye. 

In Heavens aye! Tell, may I power obtain 

By alms, by fasting, prayer, by paine? 
(Echo) By paine. 

Show me the paine, it shall be undergone, 

Power is my end. I to my end will still go on. 
(Echo) Go on. 

1 go. Thee, Paine, I choose for closest friend. 

Thou shalt me through the day and through the night attend. 
Wring thou my heart at thine own will, 
So thou with power my life dost fill. 

One more task remains for the Good Will. It must remember that the 
conviction which it is to recognize and express is the conviction of the 
One Absolute Spirit, and not of the individual only. Being is organic, and 
its truth utters itself as a unity in all : in each member the wholeness of 
the organism expresses itself; as isolated from membership the part is with- 
out significance, without true being, for the truth of being is the organic 
interrelation which constitutes the organic whole. The function of the indi- 
vidual is to be mouthpiece of the judgments of the Universal Spirit ; the 
warrant of the fidelity of its utterance in its harmony with the objective 
utterance of the world as a whole. 

How can this harmony be proved? By applying the test of law. We 
have said that the ideal world which God holds in his mind in the King- 
dom of Law, where every part is so subordinated to every part that all 
reciprocally generate and nourish one another. We are the process of real- 


izins; this Kingdom throusrh our free wills. It is then the chief end of each 

o O o 

individual to will to subordinate every impulse to law. "Act only on 
that impulse which thou canst at the same time will to become universal 

What is the result of such willing of law ? What is involved in Law ? 
Existence. Law is not an empty form, a mere abstraction. Law is (1) 
an abstraction (2) from concrete cases (3) made by mind. If we have law 
we have the whole world of consciousness, the universe in all its richness, 
but the universe so ordered and marshalled as to ensure its own perpetua- 
tion, for law is that, obedience to which furnishes the conditions of its own 
existence ; it is such ordering of particulars as is free from self-contradic- 
tion, from inward principle of destruction. For instance, "Thou shalt not 
kill " is law, since universal obedience to it ensures the existence of men, 
and thereby renders possible the continual dominion of law. " Thou shalt 
kill " is not law, since universal obedience to it would result in the de- 
struction of the race, and of itself as active force. Immorality always in- 
volves self-contradiction. Suppose I will to lie. The condition of lying 
is that speaking the truth is the universal practice, otherwise words do not 
deceive. Therefore, in willing to lie I will at one and the same time that 
truth shall be universally spoken, and yet that some people shall not speak 
the truth. All immorality contains latent self-contradiction, the principle 
of self-destruction. Morality, on the other hand, as universal law, so or- 
ganizes existence and activity that both may persist forever ; the essence 
of morality in the individual is perfect self-identification with law ; the es- 
sence of immorality is assuming the liberty of making an exception in one's 
own favor. The realization of law should be the aim of each life, and the 
self should be looked upon merely as the means for such realization, merely 
as the particular instance in which the general law expresses itself. Apply 
the test of law to every deed, and do only that which all men might for- 
ever do, and yet leave fullest existence undiminished and the possibility of 
eternally doing the same deed unimpaired. 

In thus willins; law in the moral world as God has willed it in the 
physical world, we become co-creators with God. God has organized nature 
for us. He grants to us, as his children, like power in organizing Spirit. 
We must do it through free will, since He is Freedom and we are his chil- 


dren. The given selves are our raw material. In subjugating them to law 
we create a new entity, for, since law preserves and relates its particulars, 
it welds all men into a harmonious and interacting whole, into an organism 
where each member is an end for self and for every other member, or into 
a Kingdom of Ends. Hence the substance of the moral law may be ex- 
pressed in the following terms: " So act as to treat humanity, whether in 
thine own person or in that of another, as an end withal, never as means 
only." According to this formula, morality consists in the reference of all 
action to the legislation which alone can render possible a Kingdom of Ends. 

Duty has now taken concrete shape for us. The abstract formula, 
" Not only on that impulse which thou canst at the same time will to become 
universal law," is seen to involve the whole world of living human beings 
and their interrelation as members of an organic whole. Hence morality 
concerns itself with relations: "My station and its duties" sums up the 
moral law for each of us. To enter that station and fulfill its relations, as 
conviction within the limits of law bids us, is the concrete shape life should 
take. Such fulfillment of relations comprehends the whole duty of man. 
Fidelity to each organic entity of which we are members, — the family, the 
church, the college, the community, — is the essence of virtue. To think 
out the highest aspect of the relation of the member, and to be absolutely 
loyal to this highest aspect, completes the ideal task and the real task of 
the individual. 

The Word thus reads: "Forever look within for the deepest convic- 
tion, forever test its truth by the form of law, forever express its reality 
in the concrete relations of life." 

So do we live the God-life. So are we God's truth made visible. God 
would utter himself in each of the children of men; his utterance seeks a 
diversity as rich as their multiplicity, a unity as strong as their organic 
coherence. Therefore, to each he grants his own mode of recognition of 
him, — Faith, or Philosophy, or Love, — limiting each only in that he shall 
not extend his individuality beyond the limits of universal law. 

Thus does Philosophy solve our problems. There is no evil save in the 
will ; the will is realm where each is sole sovereign, hence each may banish 
evil from his world ; there is no humble, no trivial life ; each life is a point 
where God presses to appear in ever increasing majesty of form. Thus 


does Philosophy reconcile us with life. It directs effort where success is 
assured and gains are imperishable ; it shows us the self as the true field of 
conquest ; it reveals the Good Will as the goal of being. 

Anna Boynton Thompson. 


"There's no use talkin', S'manthy, Jack '11 certainly come to-day or 
to-morrer. Why, it's full a week now sence he left." Miss Betsy sniffed 
suspiciously as she gave the butter two or three gentle little pats. 

"Well, Miss Betsy, the Lord's will be done!" said Samantha, philo- 
sophically, and went on with her straining. 

The kitchen was cool and pleasant that Friday afternoon, and if it had 
not been for the thought of Jack, Miss Betsy would have been utterly 
content. No one, for miles around, could bring butter to the rich gold Miss 
Betsy could, and no one, naturally, took a more complacent pride in that 
same fact than did she. 

The making of this far-famed butter and her choir had been all in all to 
the little New England woman — till Jack came. He was. nothing but a 
small, fluffy skye-terrier, — a mere bundle of mischief and fuzziness. He 
was a-quiver every minute of the day, and was so continually mixed up and 
tangled that you could rarely tell which end looked at you. But he was 
lovable, and he caused Miss Betsy and Samantha more delight and more 
anguish of soul than you could ever have believed such a little rascal 
capable. The week before, Miss Betsy had scolded him soundly for fol- 
lowing her to choir practice. That night he disappeared, and nothing had 
been seen or heard of him since. 

This choir practice was the last joy in Miss Betsy's life. As she 
stood by the organ every Sunday and quaveringly raised "Bethany," or 
"Refuge," her heart always swelled, and queer little feelings went up and 
down her spine. The people loved to have her sing, for her voice, despite 
its quavers, had still a quaint sweetness about it. Then as Deacon Lawrence 
said one day : — 

"You can allers count on Miss Betsy, rain or shine. Her high notes 
is allers there, her low notes is allers there, and she's allers there. For most 


twenty years now, every Friday night o' the world, regerler as clock work 
she passes our house. She goes a-trippin' and a-hoppin' down the road, for 
all the sakes like a little bird. Her head's quirk'd on one side and she's a 
kind o' humrain' and twitterin' low like. Then that fly-away, bobtail rocket 
of a Jack's allers trying to bounce along after her. Much ez she loves hirn, 
though, she's that straight with him she won't never let him follow her 
Friday nights and Sundays. Heard anything uv him lately ? Miss Betsy's 
pretty well broke up" 'bout losin' him I reckon." 

The afternoon's work was almost finished in the kitchen. " Well, 
S'manthy," Miss Betsy said, "that's done now. You might as well set 
away the rest o' the milk though. Put it in the pantry. I don't jest feel 
like workin' any longer to-day. Guess I'll go out in the garden and pick 
the strawberries for tea. Keep a lookout for Jack, will you? He might 
come, you know, and we'll have to get him in, else he'll surely post off to 
church." Miss Betsy furtively wiped her eyes on one corner of her apron. 
What wouldn't she give ' ' for the sweet torment o' coaxin' that young rascal 
in 'fore seven o'clock jest once more." 

At last she stood before the hall mirror and slowly tied on her bonnet. 
Tea time had come and passed, but no Jack. She had gone for one final 
look at his favorite corner, " in hopes he might ha' slipped in unbeknownst," 
but still no Jack. Just then a most terrific clatter from the kitchen and a 
call from Samantha startled her. 

" For the land sakes, I 'most tipped that stand over! S'manthy must 
stop scarin' a body's wits out of 'em like that." 

"Oh, Miss Betsy! a burgler's gettin' in the pantry winder ! Come 
quick ! Come quick ! " 

" Keep still, S'manthy, can't you ! Wait, and I'll get the poker." 

Thus armed Miss Betsy tiptoed to the pantry, and softly turned the 
door knob. Then with a plunge she plumped into the closet, brandishing 
aloft her poker. There was nothing apparently there, however. 

"Bring a light, can't you, S'manthy. I'm mos' stiff, a-starin' in the 
dark like this." 

A splash and a whine made Miss Betsy look on the floor after the light 
arrived. There in ajar of milk sat Jack, looking pitifully up at her. His 
nose and ears were all that was visible above the milk. 


" Well ! ef you ain't a pretty sight, you young scalawag, you !" was 
Miss Betsy's sole ejaculation, in most loving tones. She tenderly lifted him 
out, and took the quivering bundle of wet, straggly softness up close, un- 
mindful of dress or bonnet strings. 

"Bring a blanket, S'manthy, and a tub o' warm water." Then Miss 
Betsy sat down on the floor and scrubbed and coddled to her heart's content. 

An hour or so later, after Jack had had some warm gruel, and, squirm- 
ing and wriggling, had been tucked away to sleep, Miss Betsy's hands went 
up to her head. She felt her bonnet. She sank back on the sofa, folded 
her arms and looked up at Samantha. 

"S'manthy," she said, "whatever shall I do? I clear forgot where I 
was goin' ! " 



" Vital, — that's what I am at first: wholly vital, with a buoyancy of 
life." Stevenson's cry from the remote South Seas to his friend in London, 
seems to vibrate still with the ceaseless energy of the man who uttered it. 
In this spontaneous outburst to his friendly critic the romancer speaks of his 
tales ; but the reader cannot fail to apply the words with equal force to Stev- 
enson's other work, for the same life principle animates every page. The 
secret charm of all his work is its buoyant vitality. The four volumes of 
essays, — essays critical, reflective, descriptive, and reminiscent, — leave on 
the reader's mind an impression of the dominating vital energy that pervades 
them. In reading letters and essays together it is impossible to separate the 
man and his work, for the great qualities of the one are the great qualities of 
the other. Indeed the letters themselves, — those intimate disclosures of the 
courageous spirit which has wrought such enduring magic into the name 
Vailima, — are of value chiefly for the clearer light they throw upon this 
alert personality whose shadow in the essays so fascinates us. 

The supreme gift of Stevenson's mind, the power that sustains his un- 
flagging vitality, is what Lowell has termed a "prevailing imagination." 
This is the source of his versatility. In any one of the six volumes of es- 
says and letters we may meet the romancer, the critic, the portrait painter, 
the good comrade, the humorist, the poet ; yet it is always the same man 


who speaks, and speaks eloquently, out of that abundant imagination which 
has revealed to him the mysteries of human experience. 

I mention the romancer here because Stevenson did not cease to be a 
romancer when he wrote essays and letters ; nor can it be denied that much 
of the spirited energy of his work is due to his quick grasp of a romantic 
situation. He not only gives us his idea of a good romance, and shares with 
us his delight in " dearest d'Artagnan : " he also transforms by his own magic 
touch everything he handles. From the tangled threads of fact scattered 
about him, the swift shuttle of his imagination weaves unfading figures of 
romance. Xo incident is too small, no suggestion too broad for his ready 
attention. " True romantic art," he says, " makes a romance of all things. 
It reaches into the highest abstraction of the ideal : it does not refuse the 
most pedestrian realism." 

The animated descriptions of daily life in Samoa show Stevenson's pe- 
culiar susceptibility to the fascination of romantic surroundings. Eveiy 
fight with a sensitive plant, or council of native chiefs, is full of exciting 
adventure. Indeed, these two volumes of letters, with their story of war 
and intrigue, might themselves pass muster as a romance of no uncertain 
charm. Stevenson appreciates the value of his own experience. He finds 
a world of suggestion in every circumstance ; he sees what is, and knows 
what might be. In one letter he refers to a sudden baseless emotion that 
swept over him as he stood, one day, before his Samoan home. 

" I knew I had found a frame of mind that belonged to Scotland. . . . 
Very odd, these identities of sensation, and the world of connotations im- 
plied ; highland huts, and peat smoke, and the brown swirling rivers, and 
wet clothes, and whiskey, and the romance of the past, and that indescriba- 
ble bite of the whole thing at a man's heart, which is, — or rather lies at the 
bottom of, — a story." 

Another vitalizing quality is the world-wide sympathy of Stevenson's 
work. The imagination that so readily dives to the bottom of a story, 
touches the depths of human hearts, and thus learns that swift insight which 
makes the writer an appreciative critic, portrait painter, and comrade. Stev- 
enson as a critic I have not the hardihood to discuss, nor have I any wish 
but to reveal in some measure my own enjoyment in his writing ; yet what- 
ever be the final opinion as to the value of his critical essays, it will not be 


denied that he discovers the personality of his man. As we read these pa- 
pers, Robert Burns, Yoshida-Torajiro, and Samuel Pepys stand living before 
us, because of Stevenson's sympathetic attitude toward those whose lives and 
works he studied. 

" To write with authority about another man," he says, " we must have 
fellow-feeling and some ground of common experience with our subject. It 
is only by virtue of some relationship that we can be his judges." 

In the portraits, drawn here and there with the seeming carelessness of 
a sure hand, the artist's insight is so well matched by his skill, that the 
pictures paint themselves on the memory. We can summon at once to our 
minds the supple form of the Samoan woman washing windows, or that por- 
trait by Raeburn of the man " who sits looking out at you with inimitable 
innocence, and apparently under the impression that he is in a room by him- 
self." Clearest of all appears the figure of sturdy John Todd, " oldest herd 
on the pentlands," who trudges after his sheep with dogs at his heels. His 
face is "permanently set and colored; ruddy and stiff with weathering; 
more like a picture than a face; yet with a certain strain and threat of anger 
in the expression, like that of a man trained too fine, and harassed with per- 
petual vigilance." We still hear "the sudden, loud haw-haw, hearty, but 
somehow joyless, like an echo from a rock." 

The reader, as well as the hero, comes in for a share of Stevenson's 
ready comradeship. He gives and demands sympathy. While he paints 
you a picture or tells you a story, he does not forget your presence. These 
essays, indeed, speak to the ear as well as to the eye; reading them is like 
listening to the best of talkers. You are immensely flattered by his confi- 
dential air, and remain unaware of your own silence in this one-sided con- 
versation. After his quick appeal to your sympathy, — " If you look back 
on your own education," — you think you see him stretch his long legs, and 
take a reminiscent whiff at his pipe, before he goes on to speak for his own 
part. With extraordinary sparkle and energy his fancy, instead of trickling 
impotently away in divergent rivulets, pours forth in a translucent stream 
that clarifies the turbid current of your own thought, and sets the springs of 
your imagination a-bubbling. And in the Vailima Letters we find the same 
appreciative comradeship endearing Stevenson to the untouched barbarian 
hearts of the Samoan chiefs, who, for love of this man, abandoned their dig- 
nified indolence to build with their own hands " The Road of Loving Hearts." 


It is impossible to enjoy his company and not laugh often and heartily. 
Yet his spontaneous humor is of the evanescent sort that cannot be roughly 
handled. No essay is free from it, yet no extract will adequately reveal it. 
Only in continued reading do we break into sudden laughter at the gentle 
apparition of Professor Kelland standing, pointer in hand, at the blackboard, 
with " an affectionate glitter in his eyeglasses." And his quondam pupil 
adds, "I never knew but one other man who had so kind a spectacle." 
Stevenson's humor is not a mood, but a deep-seated characteristic, flashing 
out in bright moments as well as when " the lights are turned down." 

Even more pervasive is his love for out-of-door life, his poetic suscepti- 
bility to the power of natural scenery. It is because his senses are so alert 
that we receive such vivid impressions from his descriptions, — impressions 
not merely of objects in a landscape, but of the color, sound, temperature, 
and atmosphere. There is intense heat in the Vailima Letters ; and there are 
rainstorms of such battering force that you expect to see the heavy ciystal 
rods slanting across your own window, when you glance up from the page. 
The diving episode in "Random Memories," gives the reader an experience 
of green light, of silence, of buoyant motion, which, in reality, cannot be 
enjoyed outside a diving bell. Stevenson's peculiar sensitiveness to sound 
is always striking, but perhaps nowhere better illustrated than in the essay 
on "An Old Pacific Capital." There we hear the surf breaking "up and 
down the long keyboard of the beach." The noise of the waves pursues us 
to distant parts of the town, where " the roar of water dwells in the clean, 
empty rooms of Monterey as in a shell upon the chimney." 

Each of these striking qualities of Stevenson's mind, which I have tried 
briefly to indicate, adds to that vigor of thought which is his in so large a 
measure. Because of his sensitive, poetic nature and spontaneous humor ; 
because of his insight into the lives of men, his bold love of adventure and 
experience, and "that bite of the whole thing at a man's heart," which makes 
the romancer, —because of all these things his work has vitality. And of 
these activities the motive power, the power that includes and combines and 
remodels them into living impressions, is his all-embracing imagination. 

Imagination alone, however, is like faith without works ; and no one 
knew better than Stevenson that the vitality of his writing must depend 
largely upon skill in wedding thought to words. " The words, if the book 


be eloquent, should run thenceforward in our ears like the noise of break- 
ers." In his own books many surging phrases resound with eloquence 
which, although intrinsically a gift of genius, has been perfected by long and 
patient training to which the ambitious young truant subjected himself. 
We are all so familiar with the opening pages of " A College Magazine" 
that we can easily picture the boy, pencil in hand, at the roadside, intent on 
his play business, which was to learn to write. Not satisfied with this prac- 
tice he must "play the sedulous ape to Hazlitt, to Lamb, to Wordsworth," 
and a score of others. That the boy did at least learn to be a writer, we all 
gratefully acknowledge, when we feel the man's power in the essays, and 
recognize the magnetic force of words which leads us to call Stevenson what 
he himself called Victor Hugo, — " A great contemporary master of word- 

No man ever worked more conscientiously. To be an artist meant to 
be an earnest, clear-minded, judicious laborer, who had learned to still "the 
last heart throbs of that excited amateur who has to die in all of us before 
the artist can be born." In the letters to Mr. Colvin we find the artist 
working, sometimes painfully, often easily and delightedly, and always with 
conscious effort to produce a given etfect, an effect of life. After a "damn- 
ing " letter from Mr. Colvin, Stevenson writes : — 

" It is not the technicalities that shocked you, it was my bad art. It is 
very strange that X., should be so good a chapter, and IX. and XI. so 
uncompromisingly bad. If X. had not cheered me up I should be in dole- 
ful dumps, but X. is alive, anyway, and life is all in all." 

A faculty, more natural than acquired, of telling the truth, seems to me 
to be another secret of Stevenson's vital power, Strict veracity is more 
uncommon than is ordinarily acknowledged. It is the lazy custom of most 
of us to say less or more than our own idea of the truth. Stevenson does 
not dodge ; he is honest. Such a courageous spirit of veracity must inevit- 
ably add to the vigor of expression. And a natural preference for straight- 
forward statement, together with skillful wordmanship and loyalty to the 
highest standard, must lead to a compactness and elasticity of form upon 
which depends much of the life and movement which we find in " Eldorado," 
"Pulvis et Umbra," " Fontainebleau," and many other essays, but perhaps 
nowhere more conspicuously than in " Walking Tours." 


I can think of no essay, in fact, which better illustrates the dominating 
characteristic of Stevenson's work, than this one on " Walking Tours." 
Vitality pervades it; it is vital in imaginative power, vital in expression. 
The eager delight of the reader is the best commentary on its spirited 
influence. Here, as Stevenson strides along the country road, the romantic 
enjoyment of a new scene and of possible adventures, keeps his senses alert; 
and, although he goes alone, his fancy dwells in kindly and critical fashion 
on other and unknown wayfarers. He takes you jocosely into his confi- 
dence, until you involuntarily exclaim, " "What good company Stevenson is 
when he is by himself!" A delicate humor, and the poet's love for open 
fields and shadowy woods are fresh at every hedgerow. And always the 
words go swinging on to suit the random fancies. Thoughts and phrases 
keep to the road and grow strenuous with the straining muscles, or drowsy 
with the loitering form in the warm shade. Read for yourself, if you have 
not already read, and see if the essay is not "vital with a buoyancy of life," 
which Stevenson, and Stevenson alone, could give it. Read "in quest of 
certain jolly humors — of the hope and spirit with which the march begins 
at morning, and the peace and repletion of the evening's rest." And as the 
peace and repletion of the evening's rest steal over you, I am no prophet if 
it does not seem to you " as if it were a book you had written yourself in a 

Grace L. Cook, '99. 


Say not, O ye who read in ancient story 

Of knights who died for truth, or maid who gave 
All worldly wealth to famine-stricken people, 
" We have no maids so true, no knights so brave! " 

We still have knights, men strong and loyal-hearted; 

Who conquer wrong in their own quiet way, 
Uncheered by people's shout or comrade's plaudit, 

They fight the shadowy foe-ranks of to-day. 

And she who takes in love a child's small off' ring, 

With kindly word, that in the child's heart lives 
Through after years, like some sweet strain of music, 

Is not less great of soul than she who gives. 

Anna P. Chandleb, '9S. 



It was near the close of a damp, chilly afternoon in late November. 
The wind, rising as evening drew on, swept rudely around corners, and 
whistled with a kind of grim mirthfulness, as it drove before it, down the 
street, myriads of wet brown leaves that scurried along, turning tiny somer- 
saults, and tumbling over each other in their haste to escape. Then, at last, 
tired out and utterly discouraged, they flung themselves, here and there, 
desperate and shivering against the fences, while the dried ghosts of the 
blossoms still clinging to the dahlia bushes inside, shook their faded red and 
yellow heads in disconsolate sympathy. Far down in the sky a band of 
crimson showed where the sun was setting, as if he too, grown tired of the 
disagreeable day, has decided to leave it as early as the least regard for 
appearances would allow. 

There were no lights in any of the houses that stood dark and forbidding 
on either side the road, for in the fall of 1777 every extra penny was hoarded 
for the army, and the careful housewife saved even her candles, to send to 
the absent father or son, that they might give what cheer and comfort they 
could through the long cold winter nights in camp. 

In fact, the only hint of brightness one seemed able to find on that 
dismal afternoon, shone in the face of little Polly Harding as, clicking the 
gate behind her, she stepped out into the street. The wind, in protest at 
any bit of happiness, rudely tossed the brown hair about her face, but Polly's 
blue eyes only smiled the brighter as they looked out from the tangle of 
rough curls, and Polly herself only settled the basket she carried more firmly 
on her arm, and pulled her shawl more closely about her, then started reso- 
lutely down the street. But although she seemed so brave, Polly was 
worried that afternoon. For the first time in her life, the financial question 
had assumed a most troublesome and even threatening aspect. Her father 
had been killed in the war almost a year before, and since that time only 
hard work with the strictest economy had kept the little family, mother and 
Polly and baby Joe, from want. They had struggled bravely, for though 
poor, Dr. Harding had belonged to one of the best and proudest of the 
old families of Boston, and rather than depend in the slightest degree upon 
charity, his wife had worked harder than anyone knew, and Polly had done 


her best to help. But even the. ruffled caps and kerchiefs ironed by her 
mother with such dainty care, and the long knitted blue stockings, Polly's 
share toward the family income, had failed of late to wholly supply even 
necessities, and more than once, as she hurried along the dreary road, Polly's 
clasp on the basket-handle tightened unconsciously as she thought with 
terror of an almost empty flour-barrel at home. 

She was going now to return some work to Mistress Hubbard, who 
lived in the big white house on the hill, just at the edge of town, where 
Beacon Street lost itself in fields and meadows. This was one of the places 
where Polly liked to go. She was always sure of a welcome and smile from 
kind-faced Mrs. Hubbard, while she counted out the money for the work, 
and it was pleasant, after the long walk, to rest in the big warm kitchen, with 
its wide fire-place, and watch old Aunt Nancy, the cook, working, with the 
mysterious air of some creative genius, it always seemed to Polly, over the 
flour and spices which would come out in due time one of her own wonder- 
ful cakes ; or listen to the merry chatter of the pretty housemaids as they 
tried to obey her endless orders. 

The room seemed more than usually inviting on this dreary afternoon, 
when after the tiresome scramble along the driveway that led up the hill, and 
rather a timid knock Polly found herself within. The cheeriest of fires 
blazed and crackled on the broad hearth, and the flames leaped and danced 
as if trying to stand on tiptoe to see themselves in the bright pewter plates on 
the quaint old dresser opposite, while the rows of plates twinkled and shone 
in such merriment at their unsuccess that the whole dresser seemed breaking 
out into laughter. An unusual air of hurry too, was abroad, and everyone 
seemed busy. Aunt Nancy's pans and bowls, more numerous than ever 
before, were piled on every table, and through the half-open store-room 
door Polly caught glimpses of long rows of cakes and jellies, set out in 
pretty molds, while, whenever the oven door was opened, warm spicy whiffs 
floated out which were snuffed up by Polly's cold little nose with involuntary 

She stood for a moment by the fire watching Aunt Nancy's deft hand 
beating sOme golden batter in a bowl, and listening to the stray scraps of 
talk, from which she made out that something unusual was about to happen, 
while she waited until Mrs. Hubbard should be told that she had come. 


Presently the maid returned saying that her mistress would see her 
upstairs. Polly picked up her basket, taking unconsciously one last hungry 
little sniff of the spicy air as she left the room, for such odors were quite 
rare at home of late. 

She knew the way to Mrs. Hubbard's room, and was always glad when 
summoned there, for she liked to find her way through the wide hall and up 
the big dim staircase. The house, too, she noticed, had a fresh and bright 
appearance, as if only recently rearranged. 

"I wonder what is going to happen," thought Polly, glancing enquir- 
ingly at the portrait of an old gentleman in an immense wig and black gown, 
who stared down at her with seeming surprise every time she passed. 
Polly wondered if he would never get used to her. But the famous judge, 
wise as he looked, made no answer, and Polly, with undiminished curiosity, 
went quickly up the stairs and into Mrs. Hubbard's room. 

There was no one there when she entered, but a dress of heavy silk lay 
where it had been carelessly thrown on the bed. The light from the win- 
dow near by fell on its rich folds, bringing out their shimmering rose and 
silver, and Polly soon forgot everything else, for the time, in wonder at its 
beauty. Mrs. Hubbard coming in a moment later found her so, and smiled 
as Polly, after bowing with her usual quaint courtesy, let her eyes fall on the 
rich old lace she carried in her hand. 

"You like the pretty things?" she asked, kindly, shaking out the 
creamy lengths before the girl's delighted eyes. 

"Oh, madam, I cannot help it. No one could, I'm sure," and Polly 
breathed a soft sigh of satisfaction as she touched the shining silk. Mrs. 
Hubbard took the basket and busied herself in laying out the linen it con- 
tained, still, however, watching Polly closely as she stood quietly by, her 
eyes still fixed on the beautiful dress on the bed. 

" There, my child," she said at last, "lam pleased, as I ever am, with 
your mother's work, and here is the money," counting it out into Polly's 
hand as she spoke. She called a servant, and handing her the basket, said, 
smiling, " Nancy has just made some of her good bread that your mother 
likes so well, and you must let me send her some, you can carry it easily in 
the basket." Polly thanked her, and turned to go, but before she could 
reach the door, Mrs. Hubbard called her back. " Wait a moment, child," 
she said. 


But she stood silent after Polly had come back to her. It seemed as 
though she did not know just how or where to begin what she wished to say. 

" Polly, do you think you could do something for me?" she began at 
last, "something thfit would help me very much?" Polly looked at her 
wonderingly. " We are to have a reception and a dinner here to-morrow 
evening for General Washington." Mrs. Hubbard went on, " Perhaps you 
know, Polly, that he has been in town for a short time, a fortnight, I be- 
lieve, on business connected with the war. There are many of his officers in 
the city, too. There will be a goodly company here in all," with a touch of 
pride in the handsome face under its snowy cap. 

"And so, Polly, I have thought of a service which must needs be done, 
and which I have hoped that you might be able to do for me. It is easy — 
only to help the ladies lay off their wraps up here before they go down, and 
to help them arrange their hair if it should be necessary, for some of them 
will come from quite a distance. I have heard that you had deft fingers, 
Polly, and I have need of them. I hope you will not disappoint me." She 
finished with a kind smile and half-pleading gesture, which would have won 
the girl if she had not been already captivated by the idea. A little quiver 
of delight thrilled from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot. To 
see all those beautiful dresses, to have a part in all the excitement ! Polly's 
heart beat fast. 

There was small variety in the quiet days at home, and she had longed 
unconsciously, more than once, for something a trifle more enlivening than 
the knitting, which occupied most of her time. So the chance for a 
change, no matter for how short a time, assumed great proportions to her 
imagination. Mrs. Hubbard looked into the eager face and smiled at 
her success. 

" But, Polly, if you will do it, you must let me pay you for your trou- 
ble," she said, gently. She tried to put it as delicately as possible, but 
Polly's face fell at the mention of money, and a shadow came into the shin- 
ing eyes. " I don't believe mother would let me," she said. "She doesn't 
like to do things much for money anyway, you see." " No, I know she 
doesn't," and Mrs. Hubbard sighed as she thought of the needs of the family, 
better known to her at this time than to them themselves, for she had been 
told of the sore trouble that overhung the little household, unless help in 


some shape should come to them soon, and her kind heart moved with sym- 
pathy, she had thought over many ways in which to try and aid them, and 
had at last hit upon this as being most feasible. She would pay Polly lib- 
erally for her service. 

" But this is different, child. I need you so much. It will be a real 
help to me. Someone must be here, and I cannot spare any of the maids. 
Besides, it is you that I want." The voice was so eager that a part of 
Polly's confidence returned. " You must ask your mother. Perhaps I can 
see her myself. I think she will let you come." 

With a heart lighter than it had been for many a day, Polly hurried 
back along the road toward home, breaking involuntarily into an ecstatic 
little skip as she thought of the sum mentioned by Mrs. Hubbard in pay- 
ment for her services. 

' ' It's not such a dreadful day after all," she laughed, and even the forlorn 
marigolds nodded approval as she skipped gayly past. "For I'm just sure 
mother will let me go," she added. And in truth she told her story with 
such a take-it-for-granted air that it was good news, and with so much anx- 
ious pleading in her eyes that Mrs. Harding could not refuse. 

"It's the dealing of Providence with us, Polly, and we mustn't com- 
plain at the ways of Providence," she said finally, and with these words the 
the last cloud over Polly's happiness vanished. Her head was full of visions 
that evening, and the cups and saucers went down with a merry little clatter 
as she set the table for tea, retailing meanwhile to Joe a highly particular- 
ized account of the afternoon's proceedings, together with the most vivid 
description of the coming reception. 

When the evening came at last, her mother helped her dress in the little 
short-waisted white organdie, her best and only party-gown, but which 
seemed to Polly the perfection of loveliness. She gazed at herself for a 
moment when all was finished in supreme content, and in truth the little 
maiden with her shining eyes and the fluffy brown curls so carefully 
brushed did make a pretty picture. 

"Bring me some cake, please, Polly ! Don't forget to bring me some 
cake ! " cried Joe, dancing around her while Mrs. Harding wrapped her up 
in a heavy shawl. 

Polly could see the Hubbard place long before she reached it, for the 


light streamed out from every window, and the house on the hill was, with- 
out doubt, the brightest place in Boston that evening. 

There was a subdued air of excitement everywhere when she entered, 
and the whole place seemed to her wonderfully transformed. The wide hall 
which ran through the house almost from end to end, had been draped with 
flao's, and they hung, too, above the landing where the staircase turned, and 
all about the rooms. They reminded Polly of the flags that had waved at 
the head of the regiment on the day when her father had marched away. 
The house seemed full of servants who were hurrying about, putting the last 
touches here and there, and lighting the groups of tall wax candles. She 
followed one of the maids upstairs, who, after telling her just what she was 
to do, hurried away again. 

Left alone, Polly wandered restlessly from one big chair to another, 
waited anxiously for some one to come, growing finally rather nervous as the 
moments passed and nothing occurred to break the silence that rested every- 
where. She had just begun to wish that she were safely at home when she 
heard a carriage roll up before the house and stop ; doors opened and closed 
below, there was a subdued sound of laughing and talking, followed by a 
hurry of light feet on the stairs and, a moment afterward, the door opened 
and a young lady stepped into the room and looked about with a half-enquir- 
ing glance, then smiled as her eyes fell on Polly. Polly courtesied and tim- 
idly offered her services. But the young lady accepted them apparently 
with so much gratitude, and talked to her in such a sweet gracious way, that 
she was soon put at ease and found herself laughing and answering her 
questions almost as freely as though she had always known her; and before 
the few moments during which they were alone had passed, Polly felt that her 
heart had been completely won. She thought her so beautiful, this tall young 
girl with her deep blue-gray eyes and heavy dark hair. Miss Van Tassnar, 
she said her name was, Miss Dorothy Van Tassnar, and she did not live in 
Boston, but in New York. She was only spending the winter in Boston. 

The room filled rapidly after this. Carriage after carriage stopped be- 
fore the door, and the laughing and talking down, stairs increased. Polly 
was busy enough now, tying a ribbon here, fastening a buckle there, hurrying 
about from one to another, and thoroughly enjoying herself through it all. 
Her timidity had entirely vanished, — they were all so good and kind to her. 


She bad just finished drawing on the mitts of one of the older ladies, 
when there was a stir among the group of young girls gathered at one side 
of the room. 

" Oh, what a beautiful pin ! " " Do let me see it ! " "Is this the one 
that came from England?" 

Polly looked up and saw Miss Van Tassnar coming toward her, followed 
by the rest of the group. She walked up to the long mirror, tried the effect 
against her hair of a pin she held in her hand, and at last offered it laughingly 
to Polly. 

"Do you think you could put it in, my little maid? I do not seem to 
be able to do it to suit me when they all insist upon staring at me so." 

All eyes were fixed on the pin as Polly took it. It was a beautiful 
thing, made simply of large pearls held together by tiny twists of gold. There 
was something fairy-like in its frail delicacy. 

"I have heard so much about that pin, that I've always wanted to see it. 
You do not wear it very often, do you?" asked some one, as Polly fastened 
it against the rich dark hair that brought out still more the wonderful luster 
of the pearls. 

"Only on state occasions," laughed Miss Van Tassnar; then more 
seriously, "I am wearing it to-night for General Washington's sake." 

"And for Colonel Thornton's," came in a mischievous tone from one of 
the girls. 

Miss Van Tassnar only laughed, and tried to change the subject with a 
gay little remark about its being such an old-time thing that no one cared 
particularly to see it, but Polly was not the only one who saw the bright color 
in her cheeks. 

"Was it really Queen Anne's once?" asked some one, evidently trying 
to come to her aid. 

" Yes," she answered, quietly ; " Queen Anne gave it to my great-grand- 
mother, and it was old then. We do not know when it was made. Father 
thinks a great deal of it just because it is so old, and I very seldom w r ear it 
for the very same reason. But there is supposed to be some charm about it. 
It is said that something very fortunate always happens soon to any one who 
is with the lady who wears this pin. And I surely would not have worn it 
but for General Washington. You know Mrs. Hubbard has promised that I 


shall meet him and talk with him to-night, and to wear the pin was all that I 
could do to help him, since I cannot go to the war myself." She finished 
gayly, but added more seriously : "I only wish I could go. He surely needs 

Then to escape the laughter and questions which followed, she slipped 
out from Polly's hands and declared that she was ready to go down. 

Polly watched with wistful eyes as the women, with a soft rustle of silken 
skirts, passed in little groups of two or three down the broad stairway, leaving 
the rooms above silent and deserted. She wandered for a time up and down 
the empty hall, listening to the low hum of voices that floated up to her. Mrs. 
Hubbard had said that she might go down and watch them, and had promised 
that she should have a place where she might see it all undisturbed. Polly's 
heart beat hij>'h at the thought of seeinor Washington, but Mrs. Hubbard 
seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. She had not seen her since she 
came, and in spite of her impatience as the minutes slipped by and no one 
came to see about her, as she had half hoped they would, Polly could not 
muster up courage enough to go down alone. 

At last, leaning over the banister to peep at the gay confusion below, 
she caught sight of Miss Van Tassnar as she passed through the hall on the 
arm of a gentleman. She was laughing and talking, and suspected nothing 
of the silent little figure above, but an irresistible impulse seized Polly to 
follow her. She knew Miss Dorothy anyway, and would not feel entirely 

Without giving herself time to think about it, she ran softly down the 
steps and found herself in the throng below. She paused irresolutely at the 
foot of the staircase. She could find no face that looked familiar, neither 
Mrs. Hubbard nor Miss Van Tassnar were anywhere about, and no one took 
the least notice of her, or seemed to see that she was there. Polly was half 
tempted to hurry back again, when she caught sight of a curtain swaying to 
and fro in the next room. She knew the wide window seat that lay behind 
it, and, slipping into it, drew the curtain close about her with a sigh of relief 
as she found herself so comfortably stationed, and then turned her attention 
to the gay scene around her. 

There had been few social events of any kind during that dreary winter ; 
but the reception for General Washington, at the old Hubbard place, was 


long remembered as one of the most brilliant Boston had ever known. 
To Polly the scene was one of wonderful magnificence and splendor, — the 
long, flag-draped rooms, with their groups of flashing candles, the beautiful 
dresses of the ladies, the stately gentlemen, with powdered hair and 
shining buckles, everything was beyond all she had ever imagined. 

She tried to find Miss Van Tassnar among the couples who passed her, 
and at last discovered her quite near. She was sitting in a large chair in the 
midst of a group of gentlemen and ladies, laughing and talking with them 
all, though Polly noticed that she seemed to listen with closest attention to 
the man in the uniform of an officer who leaned against the back of her chair. 

By and by the others moved away ; but the handsome young officer 
stayed. They were so near that Polly could almost hear what they said, and 
she watched them, wondering if it could be Colonel Thornton with Miss 
Dorothy. They seemed to be talking earnestly, and presently Polly noticed 
that Colonel Thornton, for she felt sure it must be he, held the pearl pin in 
his hand, while Miss Dorothy appeared to be explaining something about it 
to him. 

Then she took it herself, and after pointing out what looked to Polly 
like a tiny circle engraved upon it, put it back in her hair, laughed, and half 
rose as if to move away. But even then Colonel Thornton did not go. He 
seemed to be asking, half seriously, and half in fun, for one of the flowers 
she wore in her dress, " to take back to camp with me," Polly heard him say ; 
and she wondered why it was that Miss Van Tassnar did not give him one s 
instead of appearing so unwilling, although she laughed and flushed, and 
tried so hard to keep him from taking one himself. 

Polly had become so interested in watching the two that she did not 
notice how many had left the room. But just at this moment, as a stately 
old gentleman stepped up to Miss Dorothy, she saw that it was nearly 

" Our hostess has told me that I am to have the pleasure of taking 
you out to dinner, Miss Van Tassnar," said the gentleman, offering his arm 
wdth a profound bow. Miss Dorothy looked up in some surprise. She had 
evidently not noticed that he was near until he spoke, and Colonel Thorn- 
ton, too, surely could not have been aware of his presence, for just as the 
gentleman came up he had drawn the pin from Miss Dorothy's dark hair, 


and was about to show her what he had done, as if in playful revenge for 
the flower refused him, when she rose. 

" Thank you. Shall we go now?" she said, and with a mischievous 
bow to Thornton, she took the gentleman's arm and moved away. She had 
not seen the pin, and he stood awkwardly holding it. Miss Van Tassnar 
had already reached the middle of the floor, and it would not do to rush 
after her and restore it now. 

Besides, he became aware just at this moment that Mrs. Hubbard was 
trying to attract his attention, and as she caught his eye she made a slight 
motion toward a young girl who seemed to be waiting for hi in, and whom, 
he suddenly remembered, he had been asked to take out to dinner. He 
felt exceeding^ annoyed at the awkwardness of his position, for they were 
all evidently waiting for him, and, although his hostess was smiling, he 
thought he perceived some surprise on her face. 

He was standing near the fireplace, and hastily slipping the pin behind 
a picture that stood at one end of the tall mantelshelf, he went quickly 
across to the young girl, and offering his arm with a few words of apology, 
went out with the others. 

After they had gone and the room was clear, Polly stepped softly out 
from her hiding-place and slipped away upstairs. She was to stay all night 
at the house, and knowing that she was not expected to help again, tired 
out with the excitement of the evening, she was soon fast asleep in the little 
room set apart for her, and the rest of the evening was only a dream for 

Downstairs the gay laughter and talk went on through the long din- 
ner, and the hostess, glancing down the table with the silver flashing in the 
light of the tall candles, and surrounded b} r the bright faces of her guests, 
felt not a little pride at her success. But the faces grew more serious and 
thoughtful as Washington and his officers were toasted aajain and asjain, 
and earnest speeches were made in praise of the commander and his brave 
soldiers struo-olino- w ith cold and hunger through the Ions winter nights in 
camp. A shadow seemed to fall over the company as Washington told of 
the army's hardships ; and if there was only sadness in Miss Dorothy's usu- 
ally bright face, as she glanced across the table at Colonel Thornton, no one 
noticed it, or wondered why it was. 


Then the guests parted, the men, many of them, to go back to camp, 
and the women to hope at home, doing all in their power to help; and the 
carriages rolled away, the candles were put out, and the rooms were left 
empty and silent again. In its hiding-place in the dark parlor, the pearl 
pin still lay, forgotten, and a few scattered rose leaves on the floor and 
Polly were the only ones who knew where it was or how it came there. 
But the rose leaves, though they knew, could not tell, and Polly was fast 

One windy afternoon, several months later, Polly was again on her way 
to Mrs. Hubbard's. . 

She walked slowly up the hill, for the wind was strong and came 
sweeping down with such force that it was hard to hold her own against 
it. She was glad to rest in the warm kitchen and watch Aunt Nancy, who, 
as usual, was busy with her baking. 

But something was evidently wrong with Aunt Nancy. She scarcely 
noticed Polly, though she usually had a warm welcome for her, and the 
pans and bowls were set down with such force sometimes that Polly could 
not imagine what had happened to so change her usually placid demeanor. 
Warming her cold fingers at the fire, she watched her wonderingly, longing 
to ask what was wrong, but unable to get up sufficient courage, for Aunt 
Nancy, as sole autocrat of the kitchen, held the reins over her domain with 
some austerity, and woe to the unfortunate who asked what she considered 
an idle question. 

Finally, however, she herself began to speak, though in a tone quite 
different from the placid one Polly was accustomed to hear. 

"Anyway," she commenced, addressing one of the servants who sat at 
the table stoning raisins for her, and going on apparently with something of 
which they had been speaking before ; " anyway, Mistress Hubbard says she's 
dreadfully sorry it ever happened in her house," and the girl nodded sym- 
pathetically. "And I should think she would be sorry!" Aunt Nancy 
went on stormily. "Just to think of any one saying that a person she'd 
invited into her own house, one of her own guests, had stolen his daugh- 
ter's hairpin ! It's my private opinion that judge, or governor, or what- 
ever he is, Van Tassnar doesn't know more than half the time what he is 


saying anyhow," and Aunt Nancy's big spoon fairly flew through the creamy 
batter. " They do say, and I shouldn't wonder a bit if it's true, it would be 
just like him exactly if it was, — they say that he never did like that Thorn- 
ton — Colonel Thornton, isn't it? It didn't matter if he was as brave as 
General Washington himself, and a good soldier, and handsome, too. He 
hadn't money enough ; he was too poor altogether. And Colonel wouldn't 
do; of course not," with increasing irony. "Oh no; it must be Lord this 
or Duke that, — his daughter must marry some English noble with his thou- 
sand acres, and a bad lot they all are, every one of them. And he took this 
way to break it off. Said he stole his daughter's pin ! " 

The cake was ready to be baked now, and Aunt Nancy w T aited until it 
was safely disposed of in the big brick oven. 

Then she continued, as she slowly closed the oven door : — 

"Well, I only hope that poor pretty Miss Dorothy will get over it. 
Her father just wrote to him, they say, and told him he needn't ever see her 
or say a word to her again. Didn't tell him why, or anything, but just 
that, and they never heard a word from him. She takes it dreadfully hard, 
and I don't wonder, poor thing ! " 

Polly had come nearer and nearer as the story went on, and now she 
stood leaning against the table, listening. 

"Why, child, what is the matter?" exclaimed Aunt Nancy, as she 
noticed her flushed cheeks and excited eyes. 

" Have you swept any since that night, the night they had the recep- 
tion, I mean, — or dusted any?" asked Polly, eagerly. Surprise deepened 
into scorn on Aunt Nancy's face. 

"Swept any! Swept!" she repeated. "Why, child, what kind of 
people do you think we are here ? Swept any ! Of course we have, 
every single Friday. We always sweep on Fridays, and always have." 

But Polly did not seem to hear. 

" I believe I know where that pin is. I want to see Mrs. Hubbard." 

Then, in the quiet keeping room, Polly heard the whole story: how 
Miss Van Tassnar had missed the pin, how they had looked for it every- 
where, but had failed to And it, how then a large reward had been offered 
by Governor Van Tassnar to any one who would restore it, "for you know 
he valued it greatly, Polly. It was Queen Anne's once, and besides, it was 


worth a great deal of money, a very great deal." How when even that 
failed to disclose the missing pin, they had been forced to come to the con- 
clusion that Colonel Thornton must have taken it away with him, — stolen it. 
For hadn't one of the gentlemen seen it in his hand? And why, if he did 
not mean to keep it, had he never sent it back? Of course it was very sad, 
and poor Miss Dorothy felt very badly about it, for she had thought a great 
deal of Colonel Thornton, and it was believed that they had hoped to be 
married some time. But now that was all over, and she would probably 
never see him again, — at least her father wished it to be so. 

"Oh, Mrs. Hubbard!" cried Polly, "if you will only let me go into 
the parlor a minute, I believe I know where the pin is. At least, I know 
he put it there that night." 

Into the dim parlor Polly stepped, followed by every one in the house, 
surprise and curiosity in every face. But they paused near the door, and 
Polly crossed the room alone. 

Her heart beat fast as she went directly over to the big fireplace. 

What if the pin should not be there, after all? But she knew it must 
be, she was sure. She climbed up in a chair and slipped her hand behind 
the picture on the mantel. Her fingers touched something lying there, and 
a moment afterward she gave the pin, covered with dust, but as delicately 
beautiful as ever, to Mrs. Hubbard. 

It was only a few weeks afterward that a carriage stopped in front of 
the little brown house, and a young lady stepped out and entered. 

" And now, my dear child," continued Miss Van Tassnar, after every- 
thing had been explained and Mrs. Harding had had it impressed upon her 
that it was absolutely necessary for her to receive- the i"eward to be given to 
the finder of the pin, "and now, I have one more thing to ask." 

She paused a moment, then continued : — 

"I have come especially to ask you to be my bridesmaid, my best 
bridesmaid. For we are to be married soon, and you must be there. You 
see the charm was a true one," she whispered, " and the pin did bring good 
fortune after all." 

Charlotte B. Here, 1900. 



All the breath and the bloom of the air was of lobster. She had been 
chopping and whacking at it almost half a day, and it seemed no nearer at an 
end than at the beginning. On the contrary, it had very evidently increased 
in size, for every available utensil on her desk was filled with its fragments. 

"Easily twelve baskets full," she murmured, wearily. "Loaves and 
fishes are nothing to it." 

All her little instruments, so sharp and shining in the morning, had 
lost their edge and lustre, and were continually dropping upon the floor. 
The girl across the aisle had long since stopped picking them up for her. 
Her diagram book, at the bottom of the pile on her desk, was as yet illus- 
trated only by the marks of her futile dabs for her pinchers, scissors, or 
forceps, and she heaved a great sigh as she saw the girl next to her finish 
the nervous system with a great flourish of red ink, and walk up to the 
front of the room to have it approved. If she had been watching the opera- 
tion, she mii>'ht have noticed that the model for said design had not been in 
the lobster, but in the drawer of said clever lady's desk. But she was 
innocent, for she hadn't many upper class Mends. 

She heard the whistles blowing, and couldn't believe it could be only 
twelve, until she heard the girl in front of her make the same observation 
aloud. She looked at the still struggling thing in the odious little pan 
before her, and gave a shiver of disgust at the thought of playing with it 
half a day more. 

"If it would only crawl away," she thought, "we'd both be much 

So she hung it carefully on the edge of the pan, placing its queer little 
legs, still unfathomed mysteries to her, in the most useful positions she could 
invent for them. But it only kept on wriggling as if it were ticklish, and 
showed no inclination to walk abroad. She turned her chair slowly around, 
and gazed sleepily at the varied forms of inanimate life grouped in pictur- 
esque attitudes in the cabinets at the back of the room. 

" And they were all just as crawling and hideous sometime," she 
thought, " how awful people would look." She shuddered, and looked away, 


her glance falling directly upon One, carefully balanced upon two legs of a 
chair in the back of the room, a large book poised in hand, which evidently 
did not inspire the gaze of the eyes for they were tightly closed. 

" Well ! " she thought, " I have still a little more self-control," and she 
twirled around to the front again and fell with renewed vigor to the pleasing 
task of jerking off the cephalothorax of her companion in misery. But her 
fingers were sore and stiff, her scissors dull, and the back of the beast most 
uncommonly tough ; and every time she paused for breath, and to push the 
hair out of her eyes, an increased sense of blankness filled her soul. 

But she poked on more and more blindly, her head nodding with every 
jei'k of her scissors, until finally, after making an inexcusable excavation in 
the interior before her, she aroused herself with a little start, for the beast, 
squirming round in her hands, and laying one of its eyes upon its back, 
gazed reproachfully at her. 

"Perhaps you do not realize that you are seriously impeding my 
breath," it remarked, in an injured tone, "to say nothing of exposing my 
most delicate parts to the outer air." 

"I beg your pardon! I beg your pardon!" she stammered, dropping 
her scissors, and hastily joining the cephalothorax back into place. 

"Don't mention it," replied the lobster, carefully replacing his eye; 
"I realized that your action was unintentional, for you have been most 
gentle with me until lately." 

"But that was only because I was scared," she cried, eagerly, "you 
squirmed so ! I really must get used to you, and cut you open. You aren't 
alive, you know. These are merely reflex actions that you make." 

The lobster for reply turned a flip-flap and stood upright in the pan. 
" Of all the females with whom I have ever come in contact," said he, 
" and they have been many, — you are the most hopelessly idiotic. Because 
I do not carry my soul in my brain and my brain in my head, you take it 
for granted that my type of life is absolutely different from yours. Because 
your own poor little life is bound up in that soul of yours, which is so flim- 
sily attached to your body that with the slightest jolt it is knocked out, you 
fancy that ray life is just as unstable an element. How much longer do you 
think we have been living upon this earth than your race of many Just as 
much lono;er as it has taken man to degenerate from a lobster. Do vou think 


that in all that time we have not learned to get a firmer grasp on this ' life ' 
which you propose to value so highly, and yet give up so readily ? With us 
soul means life, — and life, soul. It is the element in every cell of our body 
which defies explanation. Tear us into a thousand pieces, still we live. 
Yet you, with your infantile and degenerated theories of life, imagine that 
with one plunge of the steel we exist no longer. Kindly allow me to prove 
my theory ! " — and leaning forward, it grabbed her by the shoulder. 

She started violently and gave a little scream. "Sleeping!" said a 
voice in her ear. She looked up wildly, then down at the pan. The lobster 
was still carefully poised on the edge of it. She put her hand to her head to 
steady her thoughts, and it met a tuft of lobster in her hair. 

She rose unceremoniously, sending her instruments flyiug in every di- 
rection. " Excuse me ! " she said, and walked to the door. 

Lurching against another desk in the aisle, she noticed the lobster on it 
waving imploringly at her as she passed. " Don't touch that lobster," she 
said to the girl bending over it. " Don't you see it's alive? " 

"Nonsense," said the other; "it just wiggles, — it's been dead three 
hours." She caught the girl in the chair by the shoulder, and looked her 
fiercely in the eye. "/ know all about it," she said in alow 7 tense tone. 
" It just told me. You knew it, too, when you were a lobster, but now you're 
only a girl. It is always alive. You can't kill it." 

"You had better go to bed," said the girl in the chair in a frightened 
tone. " Can't I take you down ? " 

The other snorted proudly and passed on. As she opened the door she 
looked back. And the lobster winked at her. '98. 



On entering upon its editorial duties the Magazine Board of '98 wishes 
to extend its heartiest thanks to the departing Board, not only for its words 
of welcome through this column and the unexpected provision of the leading- 
article and a story for this number, — a kindness which the coming months 
will .help us to appreciate, — but for the advice and assistance which its in- 
dividual members have been so willing to give. It is not only a pleasure 
but an inspiration to take the work from such hands, and we do so with the 
most earnest desire to make it acceptable in the eyes of the College and its 


May the Magazine, on behalf of the class of '98, oifer its congratulations 
to '97 on the recent granting of the petition for a senior vacation. This 
privilege, which for several years has been so earnestly desired by each 
successive class as it sees the approach of the last weeks of seniordom, we 
are glad it has fallen to the lot of '97 to secure. As the days of college life 
grow fewer and fewer the ties that mark that life grow more and more vital. 
That warmer, less tangible side of our life at college begins to overshadow 
the sterner scholastic aspect, and the upper class girl resents the predomi- 
nance the latter claims over the former. She begins to feel that that work to 
which she has for the better part of four years given first place should now by 
rights yield in favor of the love for Alma Mater's beauties and of those 
friendships whose depth shows clearer as the time of their breaking-off 
approaches. These feelings, though most keenly felt, of course, by the girl 
who wears the cap and gown, are none the less appreciated to the full by 
her under-class mates. Hence '98 feels sure that in thus expressing her 
satisfaction at the success of '97's quest, whether it be true, as Herbert 
Spencer might maintain, that we rejoice with her only because we see 
ourselves enjoying a future senior vacation, or whether it be honest content- 
ment at the thought that those so soon to turn their tassel to the other side 
are to have a day or two to tie up their papers, pack away their tea-cups and 


say a leisurely farewell to their friends, — whatever the reason may be, the fact 
remains that '97 has the best of wishes and the heartiest of hand-shakes 
from the rest of the " student body." 


Ninety-seven's recent successful encounter with the perplexing problem 
of senior vacation has shown the strong common sense of interviewing 1 indi- 
vidual members of the faculty before sending in a petition to the Academic 
Council. Hitherto we have been in the habit of writing a concise petition 
Avhich voices our needs or desires in the briefest possible way and submitting 
it for consideration with no word of explanation. This method has 
two decided disadvantages. In the first place, the professors may not 
understand the real meaning of the petition. Naturally they have to make 
the best of the bare facts and decide as they think proper, often much to our 
discomfort. We owe a certain amount of consideration to human inability 
to see through the external form of a request. The Academic Council 
always wants to look beyond and behind the words and find out the real 
motive. As so many of us have, perhaps, learned to our sorrow, there is a 
tendency to misinterpret words, so a" definition of terms" here, as in other 
interesting documents, is necessary. Although our plans are, to our deep 
regret, only too well known among the students at large, it is occasionally 
but a confused echo that reaches the ears of our esteemed professors. Some- 
times it is worse than mere vagueness ; it may be that accidental rumors have 
misrepresented our good intentions — we alwaj^s have good intentions, don't 
we? — and the consequence is damaging to the success of our appeal. Of 
course we cannot always expect a favorable reply to our requests even if their 
motive is understood. Such a prospect has too much the delusive unreality 
of a much-desired Eldorado. But if the Council is thoroughly canvassed 
beforehand their objections to the plan as proposed in outlines by its en- 
thusiastic advocates can at least be definitely stated. This is where our 
second and greatest advantage comes : we have a chance to see the other 
side. Then, of course, two roads are open to us. If we find opposition 
united and strong, as it was with regard to the Junior Prom, last year, we can 
retire gracefully, suppress the petition and spare the Academic Council the 


pain pf refusing, and — Avhat seems much more important — ourselves the 
mortification of failure. The other course, however, is generally practicable, 
always pleasanter. We reconsider, make a virtue of necessity, accept sug- 
gestions or amendments, and send in a modified petition with a sure knowl- 
edge of its successful passage. Very often such reconstruction interferes only 
with details or with the literal aspect of the appeal, the real spirit can still be 
preserved. Perhaps, and it is a golden possibility, we can overcome all the 
objections urged. Persuasive powers are not generally lacking in the aver- 
age college girl when her mind is firmly set on attaining her object. What- 
ever the practical result as compared with the bare petition, the preliminary 
interview is always more reasonable, decidedly more good-natured and surely 
more successful — and is not this what we want? 


The lecture on Kipling's poetry recently given in the chapel by Mr. 
Burton was one of the most enjoyable of its kind we have been favored with 
this year. In spite of the fact that the very sound of " lecture " has a suggest- 
iveness not the most novel and attracting to a college world, the name and 
reputation of the speaker and his far from hackneyed theme were sufficient 
to fill the chapel. Mr. Burton's unconventional, half-conversational manner 
and easy raciness of style were, to judge by the sometimes audible approval 
during the hour and the enthusiastic comments later, more than welcome to 
his hearers. The author whose poetry Mr. Burton had chosen for his talk is, 
perhaps, best known to the majority of us by those unique prose tales the 
"Jungle Stories"; and perhaps to a less degree by the semi-ballads inter- 
spersed between these tales. To some of us at least, the selections of Mr. 
Kipling's poetry that Mr. Burton read so well that afternoon opened up an en- 
tirely new part of the author's workshop. Mr. Burton seemed to rank Mr. 
Kipling among the best balladists English literature has ever known and 
among the very foremost of its living poets. Though this was a somewhat 
startling statement at first thought, yet it soon came to appear a dictum 
worthy of all acceptation, not alone because of the weight of the opinion of such 
an acknowledged critic as Mr. Burton is, but also because of those strikingly 
virile qualities of the poet which Mr. • Burton enumerated and exemplified 


from the " Seven Seas" — that sweep and massiveness, that vigorous optimism, 
as well as that exceeding niceness of phrasing, all of which went to prove Mr. 
Kipling's high place as a poet for women as well as for men. 



The students of Wellesley College appreciate deeply the many instances 
where friction in details of management has been lessened of late through the 
thoughtfulness of the officers of the College. We gravely say we understand 
its worth, yet when the lessening of friction must come through us do we 
not fail to take the initiative ? 

The particular case which I have in mind is the nuisance caused b} T girls 
waiting for mail in the post office during distribution hours. The post office 
is small — particularly so in consideration of the fact that the entire popula- 
tion of the College goes there at the same times, — but it is much more so 
when at these busy periods a dozen girls plant themselves in that narrow 
little box, stationary and exasperating fixtures. Then it is unbearable. 
That they have such lack of grace as to be willing to brand themselves as 
hopelessly thoughtless, must simply come from that characteristic. 

If the fierce denunciation of one long betrampled, bejostled, and belated 
sufferer is too weak a prick to urge them out to the corridor walls, the ele- 
vator centre, where they may join the large majority, let us bestir ourselves, 
let us ply them with Free Press articles until the favorite pages of the 
Wellesley Magazine become their very horror. 

T-f-y, '97. 


The article by H., '97, in the Free Press of the March number of the 
Magazine met a hearty response in my mind, as I doubt not it did in many. 
I quite agree with the views there expressed as to opening the records and 
allowing students to know their marks, and would say that a large number 
of students with whom I have spoken on the subject, are of the same opinion. 

It seems to me that a great part of the worry and nervousness which 
are a lamentable characteristic of Wellesley girls, is due to uncertainty as to 


their standing, and would be removed if we could have access to our records. 
Moreover, it would be possible to do special work to much better advan- 
tage if one could know where time and energy were being spent more than 
is necessary. We should be able to put less effort on subjects for which we 
care little, and reserve our best energies for our chosen line of work. So we 
might be delivered from respectable mediocrity. 

The rivalry which exists in high schools on account of marks would 
hardly be likely to arise among college women, who may be supposed to 
have arrived at a point of view where it is realized that each student's work 
is individual, and stands or falls by its own merits. Does it not, in fact, 
seem a little childish that college women may not be trusted to know their 
marks, lest they should quarrel over them ? 

I believe that if students who desired it were permitted definitely to 
know their standing, not only would the health and happiness of students be 
benefited, but the standard of scholarship in the College would be raised by 
more specialized work. If the many students who think likewise would 
make public their views, we might hope for some reform in this matter. 

G. S., '98. 

It is scarcely possible, in a community of seven hundred college 
students, that only one or two should have any gift for verse making. Yet, 
from the unavailing efforts to obtain local sonirs, such would seem to be the 
case. Whether it is from pressure of academic work, or from lack of inter- 
est in the matter, we do not know ; but while in other colleges, men's and 
women's alike, local songs are constantly being written and sung, it is al- 
most useless to ask for them here. 

"Never Broke a Eegulation " has become threadbare in the service, 
while the jokes in " Boo hoo," and " A Model College Girl," are connected 
with happenings so far back that we cannot tell what some of them mean. 

The Glee Club, after many fruitless quests among its friends for rhymes, 
and after seeing its hopes dashed to the ground by broken promises, wishes 
to make a public appeal through the columns of the Magazine. Any songs 
with or without the music, serious or humorous, will be gratefully received. 

Will you not help us to make the concert next June a success in this one 
respect? Or shall we "sing the old songs" again ? 

Amelia M. Ely, '98. 



What do the readers of the Free Press think of a recent criticism on 
college women, i. e., that they "think themselves especially designed by 
Providence to reform the world " ? To what degree is this true, and if true, 
is it desirable? 

The woman who made the criticism was herself a college graduate, and 
she expressed regret that the tendency of preachers and of some educators 
is to picture to college students, and to women more than to men, a world 
waiting for their zealous efforts in its behalf. That it needs their devoted 
lives she did not question, but to her mind there is a self-consciousness 
induced by such teaching that does much harm. 

It may have been some humiliating recollections of her own attempts to 
regenerate Society, that brought forth this opinion from a woman who is 
deeply interested in all that college women think and do. She admitted 
that in the process of evolution this phase might be outgrown, but she was 
not willing to consider it a necessary stage. 

B. '90. 

Somebody asked me the other day if I didn't think that the interest felt 
here in the college settlements was merely superficial. She said it seemed 
to her that, if the College Settlement principles were truly an inspiration to 
us, we of the Association would put it into practice toward those who touch 
our lives at Wellesley. There is not exactly any reason for believing that 
our somewhat uninteresting fellow-student is not quite as much our sister, 
and quite as glad of our friendliness, as any of the neighbors of Denison 
House. To be sure, the latter will not forget the difference between us, and 
the former may ; but if the College Settlement idea means anything to us, it 
certainly must mean that the girls who sit next to us in the class room and 
live across the corridor from us, have a strong claim on our interest and our 
fellowship. It is a pity, and worse than a pity, if we can dare to take up 
as a mere fad what is true and earnest work to anyone. 

A Member or the College Settlement Association. 



With most of the Exchanges the work of the old magazine board ends 
with March, and the result of the elections for the new board is published. 
"The king is dead. Long live the King ! " 

The Smith Monthly for March has an unusually small amount of fiction. 
Of the serious articles a careful and sympathetic study of The Saint Matthew 
Passion of Johann Sebastian Bach will be of interest to all music lovers. A 
short article on George Eliot's Mr. Casaubon, is interestin°; for its somewhat 
unusual point of view. The Editorial for this month is worth noticing as a 
protest against a shameful institution for nourishing the practice of literary 
thieving, which is found in too many of our colleges. We quote the last 
paragraph in regard to this infamous organization. 

" It is time that there were started among the colleges some organized 
movement for the suppression of this disgraceful firm. The members of our 
schools and colleges ought to refuse in a body that such an organization as 
that in Tiffin, Ohio, should feed itself upon those students who chance to be 
either dishonest or feeble minded." 

The Amherst Lit. contains a story illustrating from the inside the sort 
of work which goes on in one of the "great confidential agencies for literary 
productions," already referred to in the Smith Monthly. 

The Amherst Lit. has also an article which describes an institution far 
more pleasant to contemplate. This article is a most sympathetic review of 
the book entitled "Care and Culture of Men," by Dr. Jordan, President 
of the largest university in the West, — a university run, not on principles of 
expediency and immediate utility, but " maintaining doctrines which depend 
on high belief in the essential soundness and sanity of young men, and in 
the worth of individualistic living, and in the power of inspiration." 

The Lit. contains two good stories, "A Light Woman," and "Virtue 
and Champagne," both written in a bright, lively style, but with serious 

The Dartmouth Lit. contains a story which is noteworthy because it is 
a little sketch of college life— something we too rarely find in our college 
it is called "A Day with the Enemy." 


In the Vassar Miscellany we note " The Collar Jewel Box" as a grace- 
fully told story, although the plot lacks originality. "My Hosts in the 
Swiss Alps," a short story of adventure, possesses considerable dramatic 

The University of Virginia Magazine contains an exceedingly romantic 
and improbable story, entitled, "A Spanish Romance." The best thing in 
the magazine is a short romantic sketch, "An Idyl of the Sea." The verses 
called " Early March" have caught the spirit of the season well. 

The Washington's Birthday number of the Red and Blue comes to us 
with two or three strong historical articles. The magazine is made attrac- 
tive by its illustrations, but it forms a striking contrast to the majority of 
college magazines in its almost utter lack of lighter matter. The few T 
sketches which are intended to be light, fall rather heavily, and there is not 
a single story in the number. The poem called, "The Child is Father 
to the Man," is noteworthy for sweetness of sentiment and grace of 

The Trinity Tablet for this month is rather lacking in originality and 
freshness of thought. Even the verse goes back for subject matter to the 
classics. The "Aphrodite" is a poem of some music and color, but 
throughout the number we do not feel a breath of the spring weather nor 
of the individuality which it usually seems to inspire. 

The Bachelor of Arts has an interesting article on Dartmouth and 
Webster, and several lighter articles, the best of which, "The Experience 
of an Amateur Etcher," is full of the most delicious humor. 

From the Smith College Monthly we clip the following: — 


Dream-mother, I kneel on the stool at your feet 
With my eyelids closed, and my face in your lap — 
Your lap where the soft dream garments fold 
Scented with memories of yesterday's sweet, 
Shedding forgetfulness silent as dreams, 
Dim with the mists from the stillness of sleep. 

My dream-eyes see deep, where my day eyes are dull ; 
I watch, Dream-mother, where the grey folk dwell, 
Through the rift whence the angel demon fell ; 


Below — below— he flits without rest, 

With eyes that are blind. Blind eyes in the soul 

Darken your face, mother, harden your breast. 

Then your hand on my hair ; and the summer is come, 
With boughs of the apple-trees wove 'gainst the blue; 
The lilac-blooms droop with their heavy perfume, 
And my dream-ears can hear the sound of their bloom, — 
So far and soft that the wordless tune 
Drops into silence before it is caught. 

When you blow your breath across my brow 

I see how the good God made the world 

After the perfect scheme of his mind. 

And falling asleep into life again 

(When you brush my hair away from my face — 

When you drop my hand, and are hid for a space), 

I may not know, nor remember true — 

For the body is coarse and plays me false. 
But the soul within is thrice as glad 
For the sense of the sweet harmonious whole 
That you hold in your bosom, mother of me, 
The world and its life and the mystery." 


The College Year-Booh and Athletic Record for the academic year 
1896-97, compiled and edited by Edwin Emerson, Jr. Price, postpaid, $2. 
New York: Stone and Kimball. The "College Year-Book" is a complete 
catalogue and description of all American universities, colleges, and schools of 
learning qualified to confer degrees. In addition, under the title of Miscel- 
lany, many items of collegiate interest are given. A list of academic and pro- 
fessional degrees, with their abbreviations ; lists of college cheers, yells, colors, 
publications, politics during the recent presidential campaign, intercollegiate 
debates and sports ; together with a short history of the university extension 
movement, with statistics of education and illiteracy ; with dates of old uni- 
versities down to 1636 ; with tables showing most frequented universities 
during last year, and the proportion of college students attending colleges of 
their own states ; and finally, with a personal index of all professors, instruct- 
ors and college officers employed, — all these facts make the book of great use 


to anyone desiring information regarding such matters. It is admirably 
arranged and may fill a long-felt want with many. 

The First Systematic Scientific Study of Domestic Service, by Lucy May- 
nard Salmon, Professor of History at Vassar College. 12mo. cloth. Price, 
$2.00. New York : The Macmillan Co. All who are interested in the study 
of domestic service should read Miss Salmon's new book based on information 
obtained by sending out through a period of two years a series of blanks, one 
to be filled out by employers, one by employees, and one asking for miscel- 
laneous information from many who are supposed to have exceptional oppor- 
tunities for forming judgments on the subject. The book deals with such 
topics as the following : The history of domestic service in this country with 
its changing aspects ; the scales of wages paid to domestic servants ; difficul- 
ties in domestic service from the standpoint of the employer ; from the stand- 
point of the servants ; advantages in domestic service ; its social disadvan- 
tages ; doubtful remedies which have been proposed and occasionally tried ; 
possible remedies and general principles underlying them. In conclusion, 
the book makes a strong plea for a further scientific study of the industry, 
and for the recognition of its place in the industrial field on the part of 
statisticians and economic specialists. 


The First Principles of Natural Philosoj)hy , by A. E. Dolbear, M.E., 
Ph.D., Professor of Physics and Astronomy, Tufts College, Mass. Ginn 
& Co. 

The College Year-Book and Athletic Record, for the academic year 
1896-1897, compiled and edited by Edwin Emerson, Jr. Price, postpaid, 
$2.00. Stone and Kimball. 


Mar. 1. — Mr. John S. Woolley lectured at half past seven in the chapel 
on " Christian Citizenship." 

Mar. 4. — The newspapers told us that President McKinley was inau- 
gurated. The event was not otherwise noticed. 



Mar. 5. — A regular meeting of the Barn Swallows was held in the 
gymnasium at quarter past eight in the evening. The entertainment of the 
evening consisted of a programme of vocal music given by the following 
well-known members of the " Smith Family:" — 

Pa Smith . 
Ma Smith . 
Sissy . 
Bub . 
Uncle John 
Widow Smith 

Betty Scott, '98 

Amelia M. Ely, '98 

Grace Bissell, 1900 

Ethel Cobb, '99 

Jessica Braley, '98 

Margaretta Boas, '98 

Mary Oliphant, 1900 

Frances Hoyt, '98 

Mar. 6. — Holiday. The College for the most part deserted. 

Mar. 7. — Rev. Borden P. Bowne preached in the chapel at eleven 

Mar. 8. — Concert. Miss Andrews, assisted by Mr. Wulf Fries, 'cello- 
ist, and Mr. C. W. Allen, violinist. 

Mar. 13. — Mr. Frank A. Hill spoke in the chapel at 4.15 on " Modern 
Demands on Teachers." At the invitation of the Shakespeare Society the 
College attended a lecture and reading by Professor Southwick in the even- 

Mar. 14. — Bishop Potter preached in chapel at the regular morning 

Mar. 15. — A candy sale for the benefit of a missionary in the South 
was conducted by the Christian Association in the gymnasium Monday after- 
noon. A scene from "Alice in Wonderland," given on a previous meeting 
of the Barn Swallows, was repeated on this occasion. Owing to the efficient 
work done by members of the faculty and students alike, the sum of $114.55 
was raised. In the evening there was a reading by Mr. James Lane Allen, 
to which the Phi Sigma Society had invited the College public. Mr. Allen 
read several selections from a story as yet unpublished. 

Mar. 16. — The College Glee Club gave a concert in the village for the 
benefit of the Congregational Church. The programme was varied by read- 



ings by Mrs. Margaret Custer Calhouu of New York. After the concert the 
Glee Club was hospitably entertained by the ladies of the church. 

Mar. 17. — Mrs. Nathan spoke in the chapel at 4.15 on " Abuses Pre- 
vailing in our Retail Stores." Mrs. Nathan is the advocate of a reform 
movement started among the large stores in New York for the prevention of 
these abuses. The object of the movement is to institute a system of boy- 
cott against such stores as refuse to adopt reformed methods to insure the 
safety and health of the shopgirls. 

Mar. 20. — At 4.15 Mr. Richard Burton spoke in the chapel on Kip- 
ling's Poetry, using illustrations from the poet's latest ballad book, "The 
Seven Seas." 

Mar. 21. — Bishop Hurst preached in chapel at the morning service. 

Mar. 22. — In the afternoon the Class of '98 gave its reception to the 
Class of 1900. The entertainment provided was in the shape of "A Masque 
of Culture," played by twelve members of the junior class. The cast of 
characters was as follows : — 








Lady Jane Grey 

Charlotte of Boston 

Gertrude of New York 

Maximilia Stantmore 


Betty Scott. 

Grace Hoge. 

Frances Hoyt. 

Ethel Bach. 

Maud Almy. 

Rachel Hoge. 

Jane Cool. 

Mary M alone. 

Louise Wood. 

Martha Dalzell. 

Louise Barker. 

. Anna Vose. 

As to the success of the play, modesty forbids the expression of opinion 
by the present editorial board. Suffice it to say, that to the eyes of the 
freshman class, as yet undazzled by varied collegiate attempts in the theat- 
rical line, the performance seemed on the whole quite satisfactory. 

The Classes of '97 and '99 received the customary invitation to the dress 
rehearsal at one o'clock. 



In the evening Mme. Szumowska-Adainowski gave a piano recital in 
the chapel. 

Mar. 24. — The term closed amid great rejoicing. The papers handed 
in on this and the previous day were too numerous to mention. 


The following is the programme of the Phi Sigma Society meeting held 
February 20 : — 

Celtic Folk Lore. 

I. Celtic Superstition seen in Celtic " Twilight," Mary Goldthwait. 

II. Fairy Tales. 

a. The Tale of the Children of Lir . . Martha Dalzell. 

b. The Greek Princess .... Betty Scott. 

III. Song .... Amelia M. Ely and Betty Scott. 

IV. Fairy Tales. 

a. Legend of Knock Grafton . . Amelia M. Ely. 

b. Fair, Brown and Trembling . . Emily Baxter. 

V. Celtic Imagination in Celtic Stories . . Bertha Wetherbee. 

VI. Music Alma Seipp. 

There were present at the meeting, Helen James O'Brian, '95, Frances 
Pullen, '96, Abbie Paige, '96, and Theresa Huntington, '96. 

A programme meeting of the Phi Sigma Society was held March 10 : — 

Celtic Heathendom. 

I. The Religion of the Princes . . . Kate Tibbals. 

II. Celtic Inheritance from Mythologies of the 

Past Mabel Eddy. 

III. Music. 

IV. Great Epic Cycles— Cuchulaine — Finn . Clara Shaw. 

V. Music Alma Seipp. 


A regular meeting of the Society Tau Zeta Epsilon was held March 3. 
The following programme was presented : — 


I. The Process and its History . . . Louise Barker. 

II. Indoor Work — Portraits . . . Margaret Weed. 

III. Outdoor Work — Landscapes . . Bernice Kelly. 
TV. Micro-Photography .... Grace Sutherland. 

A meeting of Society Tau Zeta Epsilon was held Saturday, March 20. 
The subject was Caricature Drawing. The following papers were read : — 

I. History of Caricature .... Augusta Fordham. 

II. American Caricaturists .... Mabel Wood. 

At a regular meeting of Society Zeta Alpha, held March 20, the follow- 
ing programme was presented : — 

Foreign Drama. 

I. A Comparison Between Dumas and Ibsen 

II. Maeterlinck ..... 

III. Contributions of the French Stage to our 

Floyd Smith. 
Katherine Wetmore. 

Edith Tewksbury. 
Franc Foote. 

Drama ..... 
Current Topic — The Famine in India 
Dramatic Bepresentation from Maeterlinck's 

" Princess Maleine " . . . Grace Hoge, Eliza Craig. 

The Classical Society held its regular programme meeting March 20. 
The subject was Latin Comedy. 

I. Plautus ....... Julia D. Randall. 

II. Personality and Art of Plautus . . Helen Bogart. 

C Mary H. Mirick. 

III. Selections from " Mostellaria " . } M. Edith Ames. 

( Hester D. Nichols. 

Nellie L. Fowler was initiated into the Society on February 12, and 
Grace Linscott on March 12. 


Florence Soule, '89, is teaching again this year in Barre, Vermont. 

Elsie Thalheimer, '89, is still with the American Book Company in New 
York. Her address is Rutherford, N. J. Box 216. 

Alice M. Libby, '89, is teaching Greek in the Northfield Seminary. 

Dr. Edith Sturgis, '89, is practicing medicine in Chicago. Her address 
is 5601 Washington Avenue. 

Jeanette Welch, '89, took her Ph.D. in Physiology in August, 1896, 
from the University of Chicago. She is now teaching in Duluth, Minn. 

Susie Wilcox, '89, is assistant principal in the High School, Springfield, 

Clem Winnie Orr, '89, is still teaching in the High School, Washington, 
D. C. 

Mr. and Mrs. Edward Sibley announce the engagement of their 
daughter, Charlotte Thorndike, B.A., '91, M.A., '94, to Mr. Henry Hoyt 
Hilton, formerly of Boston, now of Chicago. 

Bessie Greenman, '92, is studying Physics and Mathematics at the 
Boston Institute of Technology. 

Pauletta Guffey, '92, is tutoring private pupils at her home in Pitts- 
burg, Penn. 

Margaret Lauder, '92, is teaching Mathematics at Temple Grove Sem- 
inary, Saratoga, N. Y. 

Mabel McDuffee is private secretary to the editor of the School Phys- 
iology Journal, Boston. Henrietta Mirick is assistant editor of the same 

Clarinda Merchant, '92, is teaching in a girls' school in Albany, N. Y. 

Nettie Pullen, '92, is teaching in the Science Hill School, Shelbyville, Ivy. 


Flora Randolph, '92, is tutoring at Montecito, Cal. 

Agnes Rowell, '92, is teaching Latin at Colby Academy, New London, 
N. H. 

Mrs. Entity Smalley Arrington, '92, is conducting morning kindergarten 
classes in memory of her little son. Address, 41 Newbury Street, Maiden, 


Cora Smith, '92, is teaching in Middlebury, Vt. 

Edna Spaulding, '92, is teaching in a New York private school. Address, 
8 East 46th Street, New York. 

Maud Straight, '92, is reorganizing the library at Dubuque, la. 

Sophie Thorne, '92, has charge of the English department, Granger 
Place School, Canandaigua, N. Y. 

Eliza Little, '92, is teaching Latin and Greek in the Pawtucket (R. I.) 
High School. 

Anna W. Locke, '92, is studying medicine at Ann Arbor. 

Jennie Loomis is studying art at her home in Windsor, Conn. 

Kate Ward, '92, is teaching English at the Packer Collegiate Institute, 
Brooklyn, N. Y. 

The address of Mrs. Maud Hutchinson Babbitt, '92, is 789 Call Recon- 
quista, Buenos Ayres, Argentina, South America. 

Marion Canfield, '94, is librarian and secretary of the Staten Island 
Academy, New Brighton, Staten Island. 

Florence K. Leatherbee, '95, is spending the winter abroad. 

The new address of Jennie Ritner Beale, '96, is 821 Franklin Street, 
Philadelphia, Pa. 

Helen Sara Smith, '96, is teaching English in the Red Wing (Minn.) 
High School. 


Sura C. Very, Sp., '75-76, is giving a course of lectures on the 
History of Music at the home of Mrs. Eugene Du Bois on Staten Island. 
Miss Very is giving a similar course in Morristown for the benefit of Evelyn 

The February meeting of the New York Wellesley Club was held at 
the Women's University Club rooms, New York. Mr. Alpheus Hardy, of 
Boston, Treasurer of Wellesley College, spoke to the Club on the financial 
needs and condition of the College. 

The March meeting of the Club was held at the College Settlement, 
95 Rivington Street, New York. An interesting discussion was conducted 
by Mrs. George Plimpton on the book, "Sir George Tressady," by Mrs. 
Humphrey Ward. 

It has been suggested that the College of to-day might be interested to 
know something of the relations between Professor Drummond and the class 
which made him an honorary member. After Professor Drummond had 
visited Wellesley in 1887, a well-known friend of the College advised '90 to 
elect him to her honorary membership. Naturally the young Class realized 
on which side the honor of such a proceeding would lie, and hesitated. But, 
after assurances that Professor Drummond would not be displeased, he was 

The announcement of the action by the Class reached him as he was 

about to sail for home, and the following despatch was his response : — 

" Nothing in this broad and generous land could give me greater pleasure than this most 
undeserved honor. I accept with deep gratitude. When this reaches you I shall be on the sea. 

After a long silence, in the early winter of 1889, the Class received a 
box from across the sea. It contained the white and gold author's edition of 
" The Greatest Thing in the World." Professor Drummond's letter, accom- 
panying the gift, shows the spirit of the man : — 

3 Park Circus, Glasgow, Dec. 10th, 1889. 
To Class '90:— 

My dear Fellow- Students, — I know from letters which I greatly prize, that you have not 
quite forgotten your fellow-student in Scotland. Be assured that through this long silence and 
from this far distance he often thinks of you with interest and gratitude. I never look at the 
beautiful Album of Wellesley views, with which your kindness has adorned my table, without 


a great wish to be at Wellesley once more, and see you all before you go into the unknown. 
But the pressure of life and work increases, as it ought, and for the present, the long-cherished 
thought that I shall be with you again scarce seems as if it could be realized. I can therefore 
only send you this greeting from a heart charged with many high desires and wishes for you 
all. When the last term is over, and you are all scattered over the world, — little as you might 
think your simple action on my behalf could have such significance, — I know I shall miss 
something from my life. America will not be quite the same to me. For one so unknown to 
you, and so little worthy, to have bad these years even a corner in your hearts, has been to me 
a quiet joy which I cannot express. What we most need in the world is friendship. None of 
us can have enough of that, or give enough; nor can we ever afford to lose the least of it, 
though it should only be a memory. My gratitude to you, therefore, is greater than you can 
know, and the memory of your kindness will ever abide with me. 

What my wish is for you, you will find feebly expressed in the little memorial, which I 
hope you will each honor me by accepting, of an Address delivered when I was with you in the 
College Chapel. I have had it printed in this form especially for you, and though in a some- 
what similar form it may find its way to others, it owes its existence mainly to a desire I have 
cherished since I left Wellesley, to send you some day a Christmas Card from over the sea. 
May I beg that the surplus copies be given to your professors, whom I remember with profound 
esteem and admiration, and who carry out so nobly the beautiful Latin motto of the College. 
For yourselves, and myself — what better can we wish for one another than that we should each 
live to know more, and enjoy more, and do more, of " The Greatest Thing in the World," and 
learn that it is in its service our true life lies. I remain, 

Your veiy grateful fellow-student, 

Henry Drummoxd. 

When '90 graduated there seemed little likelihood of future connection 
as a Class with the busy worker, whose time the whole world claimed. But 
in the spring of 1893, while the Lowell lecture course was in progress in 
Boston, Mrs. Newman invited Professor Drummond and the members of '90 
in the vicinity, to dine with Miss Shafer, at Norumbega. 

The dozen or fifteen who could be present must always join with their 
appreciation of the man's work, the remembrance of his charming personality. 

The evening was shared with the whole College, an address being given 
by Professor Drummond. The trend of the address was due to requests 
from several members of '90, and therefore was, perhaps, adapted to their 
needs first of all. 

Owing to previous plans it was impossible to hold the regular triennial 
reunion of the Class at a time when Professor Drummond was free, so the 
Class, as a wdiole, never had a meeting with him. But as they read again the 
letter printed here they cannot feel that their connection was in name alone. 

Mary Barrows, '90. 



Pressey-Hogg. — In Rochester, N. Y., on the evening of December 
16, 1896, Edna Frances Pressey, '94, to Mr. Charles Fobes Hogg, of 
Portland, Me. 


In July, 1896, a daughter to Mrs. Harriet Gage Osborne, '92. 
September 17, 1896, in Sault de Ste. Marie, Mich., a daughter, Charity 
Collette, to Mrs. Mary Collette Little Carman, '94. 



.;. SFMNGr, 1897. + + -f 

A special feature of our stock this season will be TAILOR GOWNS in 
exclusive and original designs of Homespuns, Canvases and Cheviots, 
made up entirely over Silk for $35 to $4-5; also Bicycle and Golf Cos- 
tumes at $20 to $30. 


Nos. 202 to 212 Boylston Street, and Park Square, BOSTON, MASS. 

■yOUR attention is called to our assortment of 

Jewelry and Silverware 


ARTICLES for the Toilet Table and 
Writing Desk, in artistic patterns, 
a specialty. 

The newest designs of Fancy Jewelry, 
Hair Ornaments, Fans, and Opera 
Glasses in stock. 

We respectfully invite you to visit our store, whether you purchase or not. 

A. StOWell & Co., 24 Winter Street, Boston. 

Kent Place School 
for Girls, 

Summit, New Jersey. 

Hamilton W. Mabie, 

Application may be made to the 

Mrs. Sarah Woodman Paul. 



Street Costumes, Bicycling 
and Golfing Suits, Topcoats, 

Evening Gowns, Wraps, Mantles, Etc. 

Choicest imported materials, artistic and ap- 
propriate in cut, finest workmanship. 

Special inducements to young ladies. 

304 Boylston Street, . . BOSTON. 


msi7 ^A^ 

Photographer to the Class of '97 

]$~os. 74 and 88 Boylston Street, 




The elegant Sabine Edition of Eugene Field; Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co.'s beautiful editions of the American authors, 
Lowell, Hawthorne, Emerson, Holmes, Whittier and Long- 
fellow, superbly illustrated with 375 steel engravings and 
original etchings, on Japan paper, by far the best, and the only 
illustrated editions published. 

ALL the Standard Editions of Dickens, Thackeray, Bulwer, 
Dumas, Waverly, Eliot, Victor Hugo, and other authors, in 
select bindings. All the Standard Dictionaries and Encyclo- 
pedias. The complete set delivered at once, and payments at the 
rate of $1 or $2 per month, will be satisfactory. 

Prices charged are guaranteed to be the lowest cash 

Address, "X," 

Care of Wellesley Hagazine. 


Rooms l, 2 and 3 

218 Boylston Street 



Tailor-made Costumes and 


No. 344 Boylston Street 



Royal Worcester Corsets, $1.00, $1.25, 
$1.50, and upwards. 

French Corsets, $1.50, $2.00, $2.25, and 

Glove Fitting Corsets, 75 cts., $1.00, $1.25, 
$1.50, and upwards. 

R. & G. Corsets, 75 cts., $1.00, $1.25, and 

Ferris Good Sense Waists, 75 cts., $1.00 
$1.25, and upwards. 

Jackson Waists, $1.25, $1.50. 

Equipoise Waists, $1.75, $2.00, $2.25, and 

Examine our Pongee Silk Corset. Whale- 
bone, $3.50. 


Next to Chandler & Company. No. 21 Winter Street, Boston. 


Private Corset Parlors 

Corsets and Bustles Made to Order 

Bigelow & Kennard Building, 
Nos. o and 10 


E. IV. Hodgson & Company, 

Eyes scientifically tested, $i .00, 

Glasses (rimless if desired), $1.50 ; Gold,, 
a?id upward. Astigmatic Lenses, $1.00 additional. 
Prescriptions filled at these prices. Ophthalmic opti- 
cians only in attendance. 

Best Watch Work a?id Watches in the city. Mr. 
Hodgson recently head -watchmaker for Messrs. 
Bigelow, Kennard & Co. (6 years with them), 4 
years -with The Shreve, Crump £ Low Co. 

Special prices to Students on Watchwork. 

7 Temple Place, Room 4.4., Boston. 

Take Elevator. 

Joseph Perkins, 

Reasonable Rates . . . Special Terms by 
the Quarter ; Lessons given Day or Evening. 

jMgent for J. F. Luscomb's Latest Banjosj* 

Noted for their . . . 

Brilliancy of Tone and Finish. 

172 Tremont Street, Room 36, 


Importers of ■«— 

Art PDotograpbs 

Z*Zl'„,„< Artistic picture ?ranus 

28 Summer Street 
43 Bromfield Street 




Opposite M. I. Technology. 

To Students of Wellesley 10 per cent discount. 

TF you will try Mrs. Dr. J. E. Bishop's 


you will be relieved of headaches caused 
by loss of sleep, overwork, or nervous- 

Mrs. Dr. J. E. Bishop, 

Hotel Pelham, 74 Boylston Street, Boston. 


Penhallow Tales, by Edith Robinson, with cover 
design by C. B. Murphy. Cloth, octavo, $1.25. 

The title of Miss Robinson's book is taken from the opening- 
story, which it will be remembered created no little attention 
sometime ago when it appeared in The Century. 

More Songs from Vagabondia, by Bliss Carinan 
and Richard Hovey, with new designs by T. B. 
Meteyard. Paper, boards, $1.00. 

Companion volume to " Songs from Vagabondia," now in 
its third edition. 

No. 69 Cornhill, Boston. 



These Steamers are appointed to sail from BOSTON 

These new and immense steamships are the largest vessels 
sailing from Boston, and have a limited number of staterooms 
for first cabin passengers at very moderate rates. No steerage 

The staterooms are large and roomy, and are located on 
the top of Bridge Deck, thus insuring the best of ventilation. 

WINTER RATES, $45 and $50; Excursion, $85 and $95. 

The Adams Cable Codex. The most complete cipher code 
issued for circulation among travellers. 

For passage, cabin plans, etc., apply to 


General Passenger Agents, 
115 State Street, cor. Broad Street, . . . BOSTON. 



Makers of 


to the 


•&•&•&•£ Illustrated Catalogue and Particulars on Applications^.* 



Headquarters for 



Ladies' Handkerchiefs. 


0$£ Temple Place, Boston. 

Shreve, Crump I Low Go. 




Fine Stationery. Card Engraving. 

Programs and Invitations, both printed and 
engraved. Class Day Programs a specialty. 

Class Pins designed and manufactured to 

Parasols and Umbrellas made to order, re- 
covered and repaired. 

. .ONLY. . 

First Class TfpiH Gar Route 


Through Trains Leave Boston as follows : — 

8.30 a. m. (except Sunday) Day Express. 
IO.30 a. m. (daily) Chicago Special. 
2.00 p. m. (daily) North Shore Limited. 
3.00 p. m. (except Sunday) St. Louis and 

Chicago Express. 
7.15 p.m. (daily) Pacific Express. 


. . FOR . . 

Hartford, New Havens New York. 



9.00 a. m. (except Sunday) 3. 30 p. m. 

11.00 a. m. (except Sunday) 5.28 p. m. 

12.00 m. (except Sunday) 5.32 p. m. 

4.00 p. m. (daily) 10.00 p. m. 

(New Equipment built by the Pullman Co.) 

11.00 p.m. (daily) 6.41a.m. 

For tickets, information, time-tables, etc., apply 
to nearest ticket agent. 


General Passenger Agent. 



The attention of students is called to our 
new Carbonettes. These are photographic 
reproductions in brown tone, closely imita- 
ting imported Carbons, b*ut at our usual 
prices. We have added also a new line of 
picture frames especially adapted for students' 
rooms, giving artistic effects at very reasona- 
ble prices. 

Soule Photograph Co., 

338 Washington Street, Boston. 

Wright & Ditson. 

new England's leading athletic outfitters. 

Every Requisite for . . . 

Athletic Sports and Pastimes 

Golf, Tennis, basket ball, 
skating, etc. 

Gymnasium, Fencing and Outing Uniforms 
of every description. 

Prompt and careful attention given to mail orders. 

Wright & Ditson, 

Mo. 344. Washington Street, Boston, Mass. 

The Dana Hall School, 


Pupils are prepared for regular or for special courses at 
Wellesley College. 

Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the school year; 
Tuition for day pupils, $125. 

For further information address the Principals : 

Julia A. Eastman, 
Sarah P. Eastman. 


. AND . . 



C. W. PERRY, Sole Agent, 


IPerrg'e ©rug Store. 


Fine Stationery and Engraving House 

1121 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 



Heraldry and Genealogy a Specialty. 

Coats of Arms Painted for Framing. 


oman's Medical College of the 

New York Infirmary for Women and Children. 

AjESSION '96-97 opens October 1, 1896. Four years, Graded Course. 
^"^ Instruction by Lectures, Clinics, Recitations and practical work, under 
supervision in Laboratories, and Dispensary of College, and in New York 
Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of the City Hospitals and Dis- 
pensaries open to Women Students. For Catalogues, etc., address 

321 East Fifteenth Street, 
New York. 




Fine Tortoise Shell Goods. 

Salesroom, 7 TEMPLE PLACE. 

Factory, 363 Washington St., BOSTON. 

Special discount to Wellesley Students. 

Stationer and Picture Dealer. 

Special attention given to Framing 
Pictures at reasonable prices. <£&<£ 

It is of easy access by the Electric Cars. 

No. 2 riain Street, Natick, rlass. 


Trimmed and Untrimmed Hats. 
Bicycle and Walking Hats a Specialty. 

Our Dress-lining' Department is the 
largest in the city. jA <£ <£ £ <£ & 
Special prices to Wellesley Students. 




fflellesley Preparatory, 


For circular address the Principals, 


Established 1843. Incorporated 1895. 


Largest Stock and Lowest 
Prices on 


Mathematical Instruments, 

Drawing Materials and Picture Frames 



Importers and Wholesale Dealers, 

' Special Rates to Colleges." 

New Illustrated Catalogue Free. 



It is generally conceded that a stringed instrument 
is almost an absolute necessity. To secure the 
greatest enjoyment from the purchase get the best 
your money will afford. Expert judgment 
pronounces the "Bay State" instruments 
the finest in the world. An excellent instru- 
ment is the 


We have in stock cheaper banjos than this, 
. but for a substantial, serviceable instrument 
t^4f at a low price, no other instrument manufac- 
tured can compare with it. Send for illus- 
trated catalogue. 

453-463 Washington Street, Boston. 




FULL LINE of Hand Cameras and 
Material<^<£t^*Negatives Developed. 
Prints Made and Mounted<^<>*<^ 


Wellesley Graduates are always in demand. 
Register now. 


William F. Jarvis, Manager. 

Send for registration blanks and circulars 



A Large Variety in the Latest Styles. 

Fancy Goods, Novelties, Picture Frames, 
Bicycles, etc., etc. 


x6 Main Street, Natick, Mass. 

PRI NTI NGj-Ji.^^JtJiJt.JiJ, 

First-Class Work. Prompt Service. 

Class and Society Printing a Specialty. 

We Guarantee Satisfaction. 

"The Bulletin Press," 

18 Main Street, r<atick, Mass. 

Jvicl CjlOVeS, Hosiery, Underwear and Ribbons, Embroidery 
Silks, Stamped Linens, Denims, Art Muslins, and Cretonnes.^,^ 

lO per cent discount to all T B. LeamV, Natick, MaSS. 

Professors and Students of J J * 

Wellesley College. 

Artists'. . . 

Drafting Instruments. Art Studies and Books. 

Oil and Water Colors, Crayons, Materials 
For Tapestry, Painting, etc. 

Wadswoiio, Hand & Co., » 82 and 84 wasniogioo St., Boston. 

Branch Store in the Grundmann Studios, Clarendon Street, near St. James Avenue. Principal Factories, Maiden, 

Mass., and South Paris, Maine. 


Also the most reasonable in price. 




Prescription Opticians, 

New York Medical College and Hospital for Women. 

New York City, 213 West 54th St. 


Thirty-fourth Annual Course of Lectures began October 2, 1896, 

Curriculum includes a Four Years' Graded Course of Study, 
happily interspersing Didactic and Clinical Lectures, to- 
gether with Practical Anatomy, Chemical and Histo- 
logical Laboratory Work, so as to give the broadest 
cultivation with the least possible fatigue to the 
students. Everything promised in the An- 
nouncement rigidly adhered to. 

J. de la M. LOZIER, M.D., Sci.D., Dean, 

135 West 34th St., New York City. 
For information, address 

M. BELLE BROWN, M.D., Sec'y, 

135 West 34th Street, New York City. 


Evangeline Hathaway, 'go, is organizing a private party 
for the summer of '97. An experienced conductor will accom- 
pany the party. Address her at 11 Beacon Street, Boston. 

Ibigb Class 

Carb anfc jpart^ Engraving 

Special Discount to WLelieelcs Stuoents 


Imperil your health by going 
without your luncheon when 
you can find such dainty, pal- 
atable, and nutritious food for 
moderate prices, at^^^^*?*^ 

Doors Lames' loqgh, 



All orders for articles per- 
taining to dinners or desserts 
and for the service of parties 
will be carefully executed«2t^t 

In every department of our store we allow Wellesley Professors and 
Students a discount, generally 10 per cent. 

We deliver all goods free of express charges at Wellesley College and Dana Hall. 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends at home 
would be glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 

are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount applies 
to every department. 


Tremont Street and Temple Place, - - BOSTON, MASS. 







E . 

to <u 

a. T3 


•o to 

c -o 
ej e 

</> "2 


c — 
"C « 

<u *. 

e © 
*" to 







Ladies' and Children's 

Specialty Garment House. 

Young Ladies' Coats, Suits, 
Wraps, Fur Capes, Rain-proof 
Garments, Silk Petticoats, 
and Tea Gowns. 

The Latest Paris and Berlin Novelties 

Always in Stock at 
Moderate Prices. . . 

531 and 533 Washington Street, Boston 

Next door to Boston Theatre. 

Frank Wood, Printer, Boston.